Children of Misfortune
by Star Charter
Summary: "Children of Misfortune" is a "Lucky Child" companion series. Includes side stories, deleted scenes, alternate POV retellings, omakes and oneshots that didn't make it into the main storyline. Contains spoilers; read at your own risk. LATEST: Yusuke lashes out. Kurama offers counsel. Set during LC Dark Tournament; potential spoilers through chapter 87 of LC.
1. Chapter 1: Take Them For Granted

_Warnings: none._

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Chapter 18 deleted material

Can be placed directly before Kuwabara's entrance

Scene title: "Take Them For Granted"

* * *

" _How dare you!"_

I froze mid-struggle as someone echoed my words, shrieking them across the room like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The group I'd been two seconds away from slaughtering quieted as two figures emerged from the crowd and stood before them.

I recognized them both.

It was Eimi. Eimi and Michiko. They walked right up to Yusuke's detractors and planted their hands on their hips, glaring as though to set our classmates on fire.

"How dare you!" Eimi said, pigtails flopping as she stared at the taller kids. "You're at his funeral, and you insult him?!"

"His mother is _right_ _there_ , you pigs," Michiko said. Her face resembled a tomato both in shape and vivid color, contrasting her calmer voice. "Show some respect."

"Urameshi was a very close friend of our best friend, Keiko, so if you want to trash talk him, you're going to have to answer to us!" Eimi said.

Michiko said, "Beat it!"

"Beat it or we'll kick your butts in honor of the biggest punk at our school!" Eimi added with a raised fist.

Hell hath no fury like angry teenage girls. The kids ran. When they vanished beyond the edges of the garden, my friends walked to Atsuko. They bowed, said something I couldn't hear, then folded their hands and prayed over Yusuke's casket.

Seeing them, some of the other kids followed, and did the same.

When my friends finished praying, they finally spotted me. I broke away from my parents and went to meet them as they walked my way. They wore twin expressions of pitying sorrow; they smelled of funerary incense. Before they could speak, I shook my head.

"You…you didn't even like him," I said.

The girls exchanged a glance. Then, as one, they shrugged.

"Doesn't matter how we felt," said Eimi.

"He was your best friend," said Michiko.

My cheeks colored. "I never said—"

"Yeah, yeah, you never said that he was your best friend," Eimi said.

"But we always knew," said Michiko. "And it's OK. We're not mad."

Eimi said, "Anything you need, we're here for you."

Said Michiko, "What are friends for?"

Expectant, but patient, they waited for my reply—but for all my wordy tendencies, I had no idea what to say to them. I'd made friends with these two girls because I'd felt obligated to do so. Keiko had been their friend in the anime. My parents wanted made to make some female friends. It only made sense, to choose these two.

Now, though, this didn't feel like an obligated friendship.

So many times, I'd abided their teenage drama in bored silence. So many times, I'd sighed and rolled my eyes when they moaned about school, or boys, or gossip. So many times, I'd merely tolerated these girls—not embraced them. Just…tolerated.

Meanwhile, they legitimately cared for me.

They honored Yusuke, even though they didn't like him, simply because they cared for me.

I didn't start crying, then. Tears didn't form, and I didn't sob. But I came damn near close when I wrapped my arms around them both and held on tight, gratitude and guilt waging war inside my chest. They patted my back and told me it would be OK, and I vowed not to devalue these young women again.

They deserved better friendship than mine.

I'd see to it I didn't take them for granted again.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Scene I wrote for chapter 18, but I felt like most readers weren't too interested in Keiko's female friends, so I cut it. Chapter is long enough as it is. But I thought the interaction was charming and wanted to share it with you._

 _This story will contain all deleted material and bonus content that didn't have a proper place in Lucky Child itself. Expect sporadic updates. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2: Olives

Warnings: None

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Children of Misfortune

Chapter 20 Deleted Material

Set sometime after Keiko reveals she's switching schools to Kuwabara

"Olives"

* * *

Midway through a rant about Iwamoto being an _absolute jerk-face ass-hat_ , Kuwabara started frowning. I was telling him about nearly punching Iwamoto at Yusuke's funeral. Surely Kuwabara agreed that Iwamoto deserved it, right?

"What?" I asked. "Something on my face?"

He jumped, like he hadn't realized his emotions showed in his expression. He tucked a hand behind his neck, looked at me askance, and mumbled: "You don't act the same."

I blinked at him; this was quite the tangent. "Hm?"

"Like at school, and then here. Now." He ducked his head toward his coffee cup, words coming soft. "You're really different at school."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a two-faced bitch," I grumbled, slouching a bit. "Yusuke's informed me."

Kuwabara's head jerked up. Panic showed clear as day on his craggy features.

"N-no!" he said, hands waving in frantic protest. "I don't think that! I don't think that at all!"

My brow arched. "You don't have to spare my feelings, Kuwabara. I know I put on a show at school."

"That doesn't make you two-faced!"

It was my turn to frown. Putting on an act for others was the very definition of two-faced. What did Kuwabara mean?

Around us, other patrons of the coffee shop (same one where Kuwabara and I had first bonded over science, in fact) chattered and gossiped. Kuwabara raked his eyes across their number before looking back at me.

"Two-faced would be if you were nice to people to their face and mean behind their back," he said. "But you're not mean. You're nice. You're _always_ nice, so long as people are nice to you." He toyed with his sleeve, cheeks pink. "You just…you leave things out, that's all."

"Meaning?" I said.

"Well, at school you're the nice honor student, class rep, helpful, all that," he said. "You're just really _controlled_ , sort of."

"What's that mean?"

"Like…" He wracked his brain, eyes roving skyward, before snapping his fingers and pointing at me. "Like, I've never seen you get passionate about something in school. Not the way you get passionate about music or business or books when we hang out. Inside of school you're really reserved, but outside, I can sometimes barely get a word in edgewise!"

I couldn't help but flush. Kuwabara was right: I purposefully restricted myself from talking about my hobbies and passions at school, whereas outside of school I let my passions fly like errant arrows. I kept my true interests closeted, because my obsessions with rock music and cephalopods didn't fit with my squeaky clean, helpful, cheerful, achingly _normal_ class-rep image.

Although…I _had_ almost gotten expelled from Sarayashiki. Maybe my image wasn't so spotless, after all.

Maybe when I switched to Meiou, I wouldn't have to hide my hobbies so much?

Time would tell. But it was certainly a nice thought.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, you don't laugh out loud or grin at school, either," Kuwabara was saying. "You just smile with your mouth closed and you're _nice_."

I sat up straight. Was that actually true? I wasn't sure. I hadn't _meant_ not to laugh at school, or to only smile small smiles. When had Kuwabara noticed these things, anyway?"

"I mean, you don't take crap from people, but even then you're really nice about it. And that's all I can say about you in school." He gestured, dinner-plate hand waving dangerously close to my glass of iced green tea. "Outside of school you're still those things—you're still nice to people and all that stuff—but you're _also_ the girl who turned her parents' business around and makes the worst puns ever."

I preened a little. Kuwabara glowered.

"Don't start making puns yet, dork," he said. "I'm not finished. You're the still the nice class-rep outside of school, but you're _also_ the girl who likes Megallica and Johnny Cash and awkward humor. And you're _also_ the girl who kicks ass at aikido, can't stop talking about octopuses, and rescues kittens, and hates waiting, and hates being late, and hates olives. You're not just _nice_." Kuwabara pronounced that last word with marked disdain. "You're more than _nice_. You've got more than just _nice_ going on."

Kuwabara's nose scrunched as he searched for words. I sipped my tea, hiding my face behind my hair and my cup. I wasn't used to having my character so closely scrutinized (by anyone but myself, that is). Self-consciousness had me shifting in my seat, uncomfortable in the spotlight of Kuwabara's attention.

"Outside of school you're just… _more,"_ he said. _"_ There's more to you. You stop leaving things out, and it makes you _more_." Kuwabara sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, nodding. "Yeah. More. That's the word."

Despite his claim that he'd found the right word to describe me, something about the hard set of Kuwabara's mouth told me he wasn't wholly satisfied. I set my glass aside.

"You're telling me that outside of school, I'm three-dimensional?" I said.

It was like a bomb going off, his eyes lit up so bright.

"Yeah!" he said, sitting up and slapping his hand on the table. "That's it! Like the characters in literature class! At school, because you leave out parts of yourself, you're two-dimensional. But outside of school, you're in 3D." He nodded, grinning at the pleasure of finding the exact right words that brought his thoughts to life. "It's like I put on those red and blue glasses they give you at the movies, and suddenly you're just _there_!"

I took a swift drink of tea, but not because I was thirsty. There was a delicious, hilarious irony in Kuwabara's use of literary terms (and mixed metaphors about 3D movies) to describe me. He had no idea I inhabited the body of a fictional character—a character that had often been described as two-dimensional by fans of the anime from which Kuwabara and I both hailed.

Keiko had often been criticized as a flat character by Yu Yu Hakusho fans.

And here I was, my in-school persona being described as flat once more.

It was telling, really. I tried very hard to act like anime-Keiko in school. I guess acting like her meant acting like a cardboard cutout of a person.

(This is, of course, the place where I should come in and defend original-Keiko as a character.

I'll save that debate for another day.)

I set my meta thoughts about character analysis aside, along with my glass of tea. Folding my hands on the tabletop I asked, "Hey, Kuwabara. Can I ask you a weird question?"

A good-natured smile. "Sure."

"Which one is better?" Kuwabara's smile faded just a tad. "The Keiko at school who's nice and kind and patient, or…you know." I shrugged. "The impatient, teacher-punching punk who hates olives."

Kuwabara hesitated. My heart sank, because if he said he liked in-school Keiko better, and didn't prefer the version of myself that most truthfully represented my original, pre-Keiko self—

My thoughts scattered when he smiled, tentative and sweet.

My heart warmed when Kuwabara confessed: "I hate olives, too."

* * *

 _NOTES_ _:_

 _Just a little scene, and while I LOVE Kuwabara in this, the content too closely echoed things Kuwabara said about Not-Keiko in chapter 10 to make the final cut. Hope you enjoyed this bit of fluffy bonding, regardless!_

 _So many thanks to reviewers of the previous snapshot: xenocanaan, Lady Hummingbird, FireDancerNix, Sky65!_


	3. Chapter 3: In Defiance of the Dossier

Warnings: None

DO NOT READ if you haven't read up to chapter 27 of _Lucky Child._ Contains spoilers for chapter 27.

* * *

Children of Misfortune

"In Defiance of the Dossier"

To be read after chapter 27 of Lucky Child

* * *

Yusuke frowned as he watched Keiko dash out the door after the _gaijin_. She returned to the restaurant only a minute or so later, but when she did, she wore the single most bug-eyed, manic smile he'd ever seen grace her pretty face. Seriously, it was creepy—even creepier than when Keiko wore that stupid teacher's-pet-mask at school. Even the idiot Kuwabara could tell something was up. He watched her run up the stairs with a frown to rival Yusuke's.

Floating on her oar in the air above, Botan clucked her tongue.

"Oh, my," she said. "I wonder what that was about?"

"Keiko being weird," Yusuke said, shrugging. Wasn't the first time he'd seen Keiko get awkward over nothing; sure as hell wouldn't be the last. "Anyway—looks like Kuwabara's doing OK, right?"

Kuwabara sat at the table with his head bent comically close to his textbook, mouth moving as he silently pronounced the words on the page. Yusuke sat atop the table, legs crossed, hands on his knees, watching his classmate study. Kuwabara was as dumb as a box of rocks (a heavy, dense box of rocks) but man, the guy could _study_ when he set his mind to it. Yusuke had been watching for the past week as Kuwabara spent every waking minute with his nose crammed in a book. Hell, the guy had even taken a book into the bath with him, though Yusuke hadn't gone inside to see if Kuwabara actually read the thing while sitting in the tub (seeing Kuwabara naked would probably kill him for good, he was certain).

"He's been studying his ass off," Yusuke observed.

"It would seem so," Botan said.

Yusuke leaned toward the oblivious Kuwabara, eyes narrow. "And he's been getting his ass _handed_ to him, too. Look at that black eye." He'd watched Kuwabara get the spit socked out of him a few times since this whole mess with the teachers began, but it was still weird to see the big lug covered in bruises—bruises Yusuke hadn't given him, that is.

Botan zoomed down, hovering above the table to watch Kuwabara read his book. "Yes, he's been on the receiving end of some serious punches this week. But with his sense of honor, I have faith he'll keep his fists to himself!" Mauve eyes sparkled as they turned Yusuke's way. "Don't you think so, Yusuke?"

Botan's chipper attitude and enduring optimism would normally grate on Yusuke's nerves, but in this scenario, he had to admit he agreed. Seeing Kuwabara fight so hard for his friends (and ask Keiko for tutoring, which Kuwabara almost hadn't done for fear of looking bad in her eyes) had changed Yusuke's opinion of the guy. Maybe he wasn't the total dumbass Yusuke had initially pegged him for. Yusuke respected, if grudgingly, the lengths Kuwabara would go to to protect his friends.

Not that Yusuke would ever admit as much aloud, of course. He had a reputation to maintain.

"And with Keiko's expert help," Botan continued, "I see no reason why he shouldn't pass his English test with flying colors! So yes, Yusuke. I think Kuwabara is doing A-OK!"

Yusuke harrumphed, but inside he felt a little thrill of pride. Keiko was without a doubt the smartest person he knew (though once again, he'd be damned if he admitted so to Botan). There was no way Kuwabara could fail his test with her help. She was basically fluent—fluent enough to keep her private journals entirely in English.

Yusuke would know.

He'd found her gigantic collection of personal diaries under her mattress years before, when he noticed her keeping them religiously. He'd hoped to find some dirty blackmail-worthy secrets, but…no such luck. He couldn't read a word of her surprisingly sloppy penmanship. Whether or not Keiko wrote her journals in English as a preemptive countermeasure against his snooping he wasn't sure. Wouldn't put it past her. Girl was an overthinking, paranoid mess when she wasn't pretending to be perfect.

That's probably why it surprised Yusuke so much when she didn't walk Kuwabara home that night. Keiko normally thought of everything.

Yusuke had watched her tutoring session with mounting confusion. It wasn't like Keiko to approach things distracted, but after she'd come back downstairs from whatever-the-hell-it-was she'd been doing, she could barely keep her eyes on Kuwabara's study material. She tried, and did a good job faking, but Yusuke could see right through her. And then when she'd just let Kuwabara walk out the door by himself into the cold night, and started to head back upstairs…

As Botan and Yusuke drifted out the door on Kuwabara's heels, Yusuke twisted in the air, floating backwards as he stared at the restaurant. "What is she _doing_?" he muttered.

Botan's head tilted to one side. "What do you mean, Yusuke?"

Yusuke gestured at Kuwabara walking down the sidewalk. "He can't go out by himself at night! Not with all of those assholes after him!"

Botan gasped, kimono sleeve covering her mouth. "Oh dear," she said, worriedly staring at Kuwabara's hunched posture and quick gait—clearly he knew he shouldn't be out so late, too. "Will he be OK?"

Much as Yusuke enjoyed his hobby of watching people squirm, he didn't have the heart just then to freak Botan out with descriptions of potential street-punk violence. He scanned the road instead, watching as Kuwabara passed two older ladies (the only other people on the sidewalk, he observed) and walked around the corner—

Two punks stepped out of the shadows of an awning in his wake.

Yusuke nodded in their direction. "He's got company in his six."

Botan visibly paled as the two young men—hair styled similarly to Yusuke's oilslick 'do—grinned and followed Kuwabara. The two old ladies stopped and turned, staring at the punks and whispering behind their hands.

"Maybe those women will help, and—" Botan said, but the women turned away and continued walking down the sidewalk. Botan deflated. "Oh. Never mind."

"Dammit," Yusuke said. "Why did Keiko let him leave?!" He spun, twisting like a fish on a line so he could look in the direction Kuwabara had gone, then at the restaurant, then at the little old ladies as they pushed past the doors and when inside. "You stupid, idiotic, ugly—ugh, Keiko, why did you do that?! You're smarter than this! Get out here, dammit, and walk Kuwabara home!"

If Yusuke hadn't known any better, he'd have sworn Keiko heard him.

Mere seconds after Yusuke cursed her out, Keiko burst out of the restaurant. She looked wild eyed and panicked, coat bunched under her arms like she'd barely had time to put it on before bolting outside.

"Atta girl!" Yusuke screeched. He pumped his fist in the air and pointed down the street. "Sic 'em! They went thattaway!"

Keiko started running. She'd always been quick on her feet, but Yusuke decided he'd never seen her run quite this fast before. He flew along beside her, shouting encouragements and instructions on precisely how to kick those guys' asses as she sprinted to the end of the street. She stopped at the intersection, turning in place as she clearly wondered which way to go.

"C'mon, Keiko!" Yusuke said, zooming on ahead. "Follow me!"

She turned and went the opposite direction. Because _of course she did_.

"No, no, not that way, moron!" Yusuke shouted. He stayed at the crossroad instead of following her, watching her run away from him as he cursed. Was pretty sure he'd have burst a blood vessel if he'd had a body. "You stupid bitch, that's the wrong way!"

Botan touched his arm, eyes regretful and wide.

"You know she can't hear you, Yusuke," she intoned. "And even if she could, what possible use would Keiko be in defending—?"

"I dunno, Botan, maybe she'll nag them to death," Yusuke snapped. He yanked his arm away; it was one thing for him to call Keiko a pathetic weakling girl, but he wouldn't let anyone else insinuate the same. "Keiko can handle herself. If we can just get her to Kuwabara, she can help!"

Botan blinked. "She _can_?"

"Duh! She dodges my punches like they're nothing."

"She _does_?"

"Yeah! Can't fight, but she can dodge, and she's resourceful, so I'm sure she can do _something_." Yusuke wasn't worried about Keiko getting hurt for these reasons. He had faith in her. She'd taken care of him too many times for him to doubt her now.

Even though Botan looked on the verge of asking another question, Yusuke sped away and flew high above the houses into the night sky. When Keiko and Botan were just ants on the pavement, he scanned the streets below until he saw Kuwabara (his orange pompadour was easy to spot). The guy was running at full tilt with two other figures following close behind. Shoot. Running out of time!

Yusuke zoomed back down to street-level and cupped his hands around his mouth. He yelled: "This way, Keiko, you dumbass! C'mon, just—"

Way down at the end of the block, Keiko stopped running.

Botan's eyes widened. Yusuke held his undead breath.

Keiko turned in place for a moment.

Then she sprinted back in Yusuke's direction.

Yusuke froze for a second, dumbfounded. "What the—?! I think she heard me!"

"That isn't possible Yusuke," Botan replied. She reached into her kimono and pulled out a small blue book, the one she'd consulted a few times since greeting Yusuke after his death. After a quick glance through the pages she said, "According to Spirit World's exhaustive dossier on all residents of Living World, your friend Keiko has no spiritual awareness whatsoever. It's impossible for her to—"

"Impossible, shim-posh-ible, she's coming this way!"

Botan yelped an incensed "hey!" as Yusuke flew away from her, soaring a few feet ahead of the oblivious Keiko as she pelted down the street. Kuwabara had taken a left at the next crossroad, but the deserted street held no clues to indicate as such. Keiko cursed as she skidded to a halt and looked both ways. Then she took a few tentative steps down the right-hand road.

"Hey! HEY! Not that way, dumbass!" Yusuke called after her. He pointed down the left road like one of those guys at airports, you know, with the little glowing cone-things? Botan giggled from afar, saying something about how silly he looked. "This way! This way! Over here!"

She didn't act like she'd heard, too bad for Yusuke's shim-posh-ible theory. Keiko ran her hands over her hair and cursed under the breath. Though the streetlamps shed only fitful light on her face, Yusuke read desperation in her features—desperation and fear, brown eyes glittering like agitated amber.

He hadn't seen fear in her eyes like that in a long time.

And he realized, belatedly, that he hated seeing her like this.

She'd worn this look a lot since he died. It was high time he came back and rectified the situation…

"Hey!" he screamed. " _This way_! Listen to me, dammit!"

Keiko paused a second—and then her weight shifted, body almost falling in the correct direction before she broke into a wild sprint.

"Ha!" Yusuke said as Keiko ran past. He shot into the air with a whoop of joy, observing from above as Keiko ran. When Botan appeared at his side, he smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "See? I knew she could hear me. What's your dossier gotta say about _that_ , Botan?"

Botan wasn't looking at him or his expressions of triumph (which was annoying; Yusuke wanted to get the one-up over her for once). Botan watched Keiko with a hand on her chin, large eyes unusually narrow and shrewd for the bubbly grim reaper.

"Interesting," Botan said. "Very interesting."

Yusuke wasn't sure he liked how Botan was looking at Keiko just then, but he ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach. They had bigger fish to fry—like saving Kuwabara from jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Something. Yusuke wasn't good at metaphors.

Keiko didn't need much more guidance, thankfully. Kuwabara wasn't too far away—the guys got the jump on him in an alley right off the street Keiko had just done down. Yusuke cheered when Keiko stumbled upon the scene of Kuwabara getting the shit kicked out of him.

"Awesome! Now go get an adult or the police or—" Yusuke said.

Keiko didn't do that, though. She didn't do anything Yusuke expected.

Instead of getting help, or screaming, or just grabbing Kuwabara and running, she threw herself headlong into the fray. If Yusuke had had a physical heart, he was sure it would've gone nuts with fear, but after just two seconds he realized his fear was unfounded.

Keiko…she _kicked ass._

She took out one punk and then another in no time flat, using their momentum against them and her smaller size to her own speedy advantage. Yusuke watched with his mouth open as the first two punks hit the pavement, leaving Keiko with only one enemy to dispatch.

"D-damn, Keiko," Yusuke breathed. "What have you been up to since I died?"

Botan, who had been watching the fight by his side, shot him a sharp look.

"She was never like this before?" she said.

"I've never see her fight like _this_ ," Yusuke said. "I had no idea she kicked this much ass. Dodging my punches, sure, but actual fighting…?"

Yusuke knew Keiko been taking lessons, and he knew that she had a secret new teacher, but he hadn't had time to tail her and see these classes for himself. Between putting fixated ghosts to rest, dismantling schoolgirl curses, and sending dog ghosts to the afterlife on behalf of Spirit World, Yusuke hadn't had much downtime since he died. So much for resting in peace…

As the third and final punk leapt over Kuwabara, and as Keiko shifted her weight in obvious preparation for a slick counter-move (this punk was an idiot if he didn't see that coming), Yusuke felt another thrill of pride streak through him. Keiko had always been the smartest person he knew, and now she was an ass-kicking fiend in her own right! Fuck yeah! He lurched in place in the air, unable to contain himself.

"Get 'em, Keiko!" he bellowed. "Knock his fucking teeth out!"

"Yes, Keiko, aim for that hamstring!" Botan concurred.

They both cheered as Keiko performed a quick, efficient takedown, dropping the final punk to the floor in a painful arm-lock. Before Yusuke could say he wanted to fight Keiko himself to see how strong she'd gotten, Botan clapped her hand over his mouth.

"Shhhh!" Botan said ( _But I hadn't even started talking!_ Yusuke thought). "What is she saying now?"

They listened, Botan's hand still over Yusuke's mouth, as Keiko told the remaining punk a story—a story Yusuke soon realized wasn't a story at all. He couldn't hide a grin when Keiko referred to him as her best friend, and he laughed aloud when she invoked his name to intimidate the punk. Good job, Keiko. Yusuke didn't mind her using his name like that. Not if it meant keeping her safe. She could use his name however she liked…so long as it wasn't to say he was a candy-ass weakling or something. Which she wasn't doing. She was using his name as a hallmark of badassery. Good going, Keiko. She was a chip off the old block, and she was helping maintain Yusuke's postmortem reputation, to boot.

Not to mention she was way, _way_ nastier than Yusuke had ever suspected. He'd have to take notes on her performance. Seriously, he hadn't seen intimidation this eerie in a very long time. The way she grinned, whispered in the punk's ear, talked about herself in third person…it was a masterclass in being a creepy, intimidating witch. 'Psycho' was good camouflage, was all Yusuke was sayin', and Keiko had it down to a science.

Botan, meanwhile, looked less than inspired by Keiko's speech. She put her hand on her chin as Keiko spoke, eyes once more narrow and shrewd.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she muttered as Keiko's speech ended and the punk ran off. "Very curious indeed."

Yusuke frowned. "What is?"

Botan held up her little book again. "Your friend Keiko is described here as kind, generous, and gentle, yet firm. This level of vindictive violence and intimidation isn't indicated anywhere in her file that I can see." She thumbed through the pages with a disgruntled frown. "There was no indication she'd ever have the temperament to learn to fight, much less develop the desire to learn martial arts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's acting in defiance of Spirit World's dossier," Botan said. She stowed the book in her kimono, settling herself atop her oar with a determined frown. "I will report this to Spirit World immediately."

Since Yusuke possessed a marked distrust for any and all forms of authority, alarm bells immediately started blaring. "Is she in trouble?" he asked, all traces of levity vanishing from his voice.

Botan blinked at him. Then she laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, heavens no, Yusuke, she's not in trouble! For heaven's sake!"

"Because if you let Koenma anywhere near Keiko, I swear I'll kick his diapered ass into next Tuesday, you hear me?"

Botan growled and bopped him on the head with her oar. Yusuke yodeled in pain, called her a bitch, and floated around clutching his head.

"What have I said about respecting the prince of Spirit World?" Botan primly said as she settled her oar underneath her again. "Now. As I was saying, Keiko is not in trouble." She pointed past Yusuke at Keiko, where she stood talking to Kuwabara in the dark alley. "I'm willing to bet that since Spirit World had no forewarning of your death, the effects of your death were not factored into her personality analysis when it was constructed at her birth by Spirit World operatives. Her file likely just needs updating." She winked and stuck out her tongue. "You throw wrenches into everything, don't you, Yusuke?"

"I've got a talent for it." He shook his head, which had finally stopped smarting. "But sorry to bust your theory—Keiko's always been like this."

Botan blinked at him, confused. "Hmm?"

"She's always been sarcastic, and dramatic, and vin, vin—"

"Vindictive."

"Yeah, that." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You shoulda seen the payback pranks she's played on me over the years. Girl isn't all sunshine and rainbows and good grades like your little book likes to think. That's just the act she puts on at school."

More befuddled blinking. "It _is_?"

"Oh, yeah. And she started taking fighting lessons when we were just kids, so there goes that part of your personality analysis." He grinned with mocking triumph. "Seriously, Botan, you might as well throw out your stupid dossier. It didn't predict me dying and it got Keiko all wrong. It's useless!"

"You mean it's not even a _little_ right about her?" Botan said. She looked utterly scandalized. "But Yusuke, I've seen Keiko be very nice to her classmates over the past few weeks. You can't honestly tell me every last part of our analysis is inaccurate!"

"Well…I mean, the parts about her being kind and generous are on the money," Yusuke had to admit. "She'll do anything for a person if she cares about them, and she'll help total strangers just because. She's nice like that." He inclined his head at the alley, at the scene that had just transpired there. "But that crap about her not having fighting instinct? Yeah. Clearly that's total bull."

Yusuke fell silent, pivoting in the air to watch Keiko and Kuwabara talk. So now Kuwabara was one of her best friends, too, huh? And the big guy seemed perfectly happy about being labelled as such. He blushed and stammered as he admitted he cared for Keiko (uh oh, was that a crush forming?). Keiko returned the sentiment with the kind, warm smile he'd seen from her so many times over the years.

Keiko was a puzzle, honestly—because Botan's book wasn't wrong. Even though she had a vicious fighting spirit, Keiko was _nice_. She'd cared for Yusuke when no one else would. Hell, she'd cared for Atsuko when no one else would. Yusuke wasn't obvious to all the help Keiko had been since they met as kids. He knew she was responsible for getting him new clothes when he outgrew his old one. He knew she'd put food in Atsuko's pantry when it was empty. And he knew full well how many times she'd covered for him at school, when he got in fights or skipped class too often.

Realization dawned like a rising sun.

"To be honest," Yusuke said, words slow as he parsed them out, "Keiko probably learned to fight because she wanted to take care of me."

"Huh." Botan stared at Keiko, eyes brightening when she came to a realization of her own. "You could almost say her desire to fight is an extension of her kindness. She learned to fight to protect those she cares about."

"I mean, I guess?" Yusuke shrugged. "She's kind and smart and generous and she's a violent, aggressive, two-faced bitch…and she's the best friend I've ever had."

Yusuke gasped and put a hand over his mouth. The words had just slipped out, dammit—why was he getting mushy all of a sudden? Yusuke half expected Botan to mock him for his unexpected statement, but she didn't. Instead she smiled.

"Keiko is a very interesting person, isn't she, Yusuke?" Botan said with a nod in the girl's direction. Kuwabara laughed loudly right then, grabbing Keiko in the most kitten-pawed headlock Yusuke had ever seen. Ugh. _Now_ who was getting' mushy? "Looks like Kuwabara has started to see that for himself, as well."

"I guess." Yusuke really didn't want to think about Kuwabara's thoughts on Keiko just then, for reasons he also didn't want to think about. "I'm just glad Kuwabara's got her back while I'm in limbo."

Yusuke put his hands behind his head, reclining lazily on the empty air as he watched the antics of his friends—the only friends he had in the world, not that he'd ever tell Botan.

"She's a fighter," Yusuke said, "and she might not like to admit it, but she needs people in her corner. She's too much of a worrywart to go it alone."

"Yes, she is," Botan said. She gazed at Keiko through eyes both fond and calculating. "How very, very _interesting_."

Once more, Yusuke wasn't sure he liked the look in Botan's eyes. And just like before, he set his uneasy feelings aside.

He'd worry about Botan later.

For now, he had a life—and a pair of best friends—to get back to.

* * *

NOTES

 _I haven't written in 3_ _rd_ _person in AGES. Sorry for the rust._

 _Sometimes I feel like people characterize Botan as far more innocent/naïve than she actually is (remember her "Go for the kidneys!" line and all her dark, sarcastic jokes in the anime?). I definitely aim to write as her a capable, intuitive, yet bubbly character. Hope you like her!_

 _So Botan's taken notice of Not-Quite-Keiko's differences from Original-Keiko. Obviously NQK has no idea this has been noticed. Consider this a bit of dramatic irony?_

 _Also yay for Yusuke's thoughts on Keiko. And yay for his not-thoughts on Kuwabara and Keiko. Lol._

 _THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!_


	4. Chapter 4: What's It Called?

Warning: A TERRIBLE PUN LIES AHEAD

 **To be read AFTER CHAPTER 28 of** _ **Lucky Child**_

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Rejected pun scene

"What's it Called?"

* * *

As we ate lunch and chatted, Kaito kept toying with something in his hand. I couldn't quite make it out. It was too small, hidden behind the fidgeting curl of his fingers. He wasn't the type to needlessly squirm, so after a while I could help but ask, "Whatcha got there?"

Kaito proffered his possession. Kurama and I leaned over and beheld a small round toy, plastic, two little wheels sandwiched around a short metal rod. A white string trailed off the side of Kaito's palm.

It was a yoyo, obviously.

Less obviously, it was _so much more than that_.

"I found it outside," Kaito said with a derisive sniff. "I assume a _child_ must have dropped it. How very careless of them." He slipped the end of the string around his finger and gave the yoyo an experimental toss. "Ah, well. Their loss is my gain."

As Kurama made a sly joke about Kaito stealing toys from children, I feigned puzzlement: finger on chin, lips pursed, eyes lifted toward the ceiling. I tried very hard not to look anywhere near Kurama.

"Gosh," I said. "Can't believe I'm blanking on this. What are those called again?"

Kaito's eyebrows shot. Kurama smiled, kindly yet amused, and opened to his mouth to speak.

I didn't let him. This was too good an opportunity to squander.

"Let's see," I said. "I know it starts with 'yo', but what follows? Yo- _go_? No, pretty sure that's the name of a yogurt brand. Yo- _zo_? That sounds like a medication. Yo- _lo_? Nah, that's American fratboy slang."

"Don't help her," Kaito muttered when Kurama tried to say something helpful. "I find the absurdity of this amusing."

"So glad to entertain, Kaito." I tapped my chin to emphasize how confused I was, how scatter-brained I was being, gosh golly gee, wasn't this embarrassing! I looked at Kaito and Kurama and said with helpless exasperation, "What is it _called_ , I wonder?"

Kurama's kind smile adopted an edge of patient humor. "Yukimura, may I remind you that its name—"

I snapped my fingers and plastered on a sunny, ah-HA! smile.

"Oh, right!" I said. "That's it!"

"It's called a _youko_!"

There followed a moment of protracted silence. Kaito stared at me like I was the biggest idiot ever to have been born…and perhaps I was, because Kurama, meanwhile, resembled a bug-eyed lemur—but a lemur with _teeth_. He pulled back his lips and practically growled at me, livid anger etched into every line of his delicate features.

Livid anger and _certainty_.

…uh-oh.

Kaito didn't realize I'd signed my death warrant right in from of him, of course. "I think you mean _yoyo_ ," he deadpanned.

"No, Kaito," Kurama said with terrifyingly silken calm. "I think she meant _exactly_ what she said."

Well. I guess this was it, then.

My little game of stringing Kurama along with puns had just crossed a line…a line as thin, it seemed, as a yoyo string.

* * *

NOTE:

 _This pun was way too obvious to use in the main story. Consider this the pun not travelled. Thanks for reading!_

 _Next time on_ Children of Misfortune _: A dip into Kurama's POV and his thoughts on Not-Quite-Keiko. Expect it in the coming week._


	5. Chapter 5: And Yet

Warnings: None

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Takes place after the greenhouse scene in chapter 29

"And Yet"

* * *

Yukimura Keiko traipsed out the door as though a fox didn't stalk her heels. The girls' hair—dark and muddy in the gloom of the greenhouse—glimmered with lighter strands of amber and honey when struck by the winter sun. The dim greenhouse hadn't muted anything about her eyes, however. Flecks of gold and toffee shimmered with every mischievous curve of lip, every lilting lift of laughter. An interesting young woman, Yukimura. Lively, intelligent, pretty—and human. Completely, utterly human, so far as Kurama was concerned.

Utterly human…and yet, confounding.

He had no idea what to make of her.

Kurama watched her run across the lawn, his mouth drawn up in a thin line of calculation. A breeze ruffled Yukimura's hair and skirt as she went inside the main school building. The girl hadn't looked back at the greenhouse. Kurama wondered if she was still thinking about their chat. Perhaps it had meant nothing to her.

It meant very much to him.

'Stealing time,' she'd said.

And that skeptical look she'd given him when he said he was alone. Almost as if she knew he'd been lying about his solitude.

Speaking of which.

"You can come out now, Hiei," Kurama said.

The fire demon flickered into view in a demonstration of uncanny speed. Even in the form of Youko, Kurama would have been impressed. Not intimidated, necessarily, but impressed—both Kurama and Hiei were worlds weaker than Youko in his prime. It irked Kurama that he was now so comparatively weaker than in his past life, but he tried not to think about it. Hiei was too strong to handle while distracted. Weaker than Youko though he was, Hiei was not to be underestimated. His eyes burned hot, coals left smoldering in the heart of a kiln.

"Still cavorting with the humans, I see," he said. The demon's lip curled in a disgusted sneer. "Detestable creatures. How you can stand to associate with them I'll never understand."

"No. You wouldn't," Kurama murmured. His thoughts flickered briefly to his mother—lovely, warm, and kind. So unlike any demon he'd ever met. Hiei wouldn't understand Kurama's tie to humanity, and Kurama didn't bother trying to explain. Instead he gestured toward the door. Hiei in this moment could prove useful, despite his lack of understanding. "Before we resume our earlier discussion—that girl."

Hiei scowled. "What about her?"

"Did you observe anything about her? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"She stank of humanity," Hiei said, as though it were obvious. He turned up his nose. "She nauseated me, so I didn't look close."

"I see," Kurama said. He didn't bother hiding the disappointment in his tone—a calculated gesture, one that implied Hiei had missed something obvious when he dismissed Keiko.

It was a ploy to get Hiei to work harder, of course. Insult his pride and skills of observation, and he might just rise to the occasion and do Kurama's work for him.

Kurama often manipulated his enemies to meet his own ends. He was not above manipulating his allies, either.

Hiei began to speak, but then he stopped. He studied Kurama's face with a frown. Soon his eyes fell shut below the white bandage on his forehead—and from behind the bandage came a purple glow.

Kurama smirked. Hiei, for all his strength, often fell victim to pride. Never vanity, however. The fire demon's cloak looked even patchier than the last time they'd met, holes ragged around the fraying hem. His head of mussed, blue-black spikes resembled a tangle of coarse, thick briar. His cheeks looked hollow, as well. Where was Hiei finding food during his stay in Human World? Kurama didn't know. He didn't care to ask, either.

After a moment the fire demon muttered, "She appears normal enough."

A dead end. Hiei was no help, after all. Kurama heaved an internal sigh, but he did not let Hiei perceive any change in his demeanor.

Yukimura Keiko was an enigma.

Though Kurama did not heed the murmurings of the rumor mill, he wasn't deaf to them. He knew the new girl in class had transferred after the death of a friend. He'd pitied her for that.

His mother had not yet died. But soon, she would.

Kurama knew the pain of grief, albeit preemptively.

He hadn't intended to meet Yukimura. He had merely helped her on a whim. When he saw the new girl in school being hounded by the same gossipmongers who pried into his mother's illness, he'd felt his vindictive streak rise to the surface. He'd helped her, yes, but he'd also ruined the game of the gossipmongers. He had enjoyed that facet of his actions immensely.

But then she'd appeared in his greenhouse. Thanked him. And he'd felt compelled to give her flowers to ease the pain of a friend's passing: forget-me-nots infused with energy that reacted to grief and gave dreams of loved ones to those in pain.

She'd thanked him for those, too, with language too specific to use in ignorance.

That was Keiko in summation, of course. "Too specific," yet with a touch of potentially calculated ignorance. He asked a question, she dodged, or gave an answer so perfect (and perfectly innocent) it sounded rehearsed. Calculated. Preconceived. Not to mention the masks she wore—the masks she willingly showed him. The girl was a capable faker. Kurama would be damned if he left himself get taken in.

And yet…she was human. Not even spiritually aware, he was certain. He had manipulated his energy in her presence, winding it through the plants in the greenhouse, making them pulse and writhe with his life force—but she hadn't flinched even when they brushed the edges of her tumbling hair.

Keiko was an accomplished faker. But there was no way she could fake oblivion so complete.

And yet, the _puns_.

The first one had struck Kurama momentarily speechless. Keiko had called him a demon, although metaphorically—and then she'd carried on the conversation as if the reference had not been made. Kurama had relaxed, thinking perhaps the words were uttered in ignorance…but then the second remark had flown like a dart, striking into the vulnerability of his past like a blade guided by a steady hand.

And then _Kaito_ had made a pun. Which made it look, on the surface, like Keiko had indeed stumbled upon her remarks through inadvertent coincidence.

But then the puns had continued from Keiko alone, even as recently as today's interaction in the greenhouse.

Kurama debated how best to approach the situation. Obviously it wouldn't do, to not determine whether or not Keiko somehow, somehow knew of his past…but she did not seem to pose Kurama any ill will. Despite the hints she knew more than she let one, Keiko never radiated malice. She never blackmailed, or coerced, or even smelled of manipulation. The girls just…made puns. Straight-faced and clever, the girl never stepped across the line of Kurama's temper. She skirted the edge, dancing forward and back, but never across and into dangerous territory. And so Kurama was content to wait and see how the situation evolved—for the time being, anyway.

If she ever came close to his mother, his attitude would change. Of course.

But until she became a direct threat, Kurama had too much else occupying him to sirens undue energy on Keiko. The riddle of saving his mother, somehow, for instance. Surely an answer, a solution, existed somewhere He had neither the time nor energy to devote to Keiko until he found that solution, or his mother...

He didn't let himself think about the alternative.

Unless he took drastic action or forced the issue, there was no telling if Keiko made the puns in ignorance. Not yet, anyway. Not unless Kurama acknowledged her behavior, and made references to his own past in her hearing. He couldn't confirm what she knew without admitting to his own secrets.

He had no intention of doing that, of course.

And yet…to solve the mystery of Yukimura Keiko, he might have to tread waters uncertain.

Kurama shook his head. And yet, and yet. Keiko was a tangle of unspooled 'and yet,' a collection of spiraling layers of inscrutability, awkwardness, intention, and accident. But where did one begin unravelling such a labyrinth?

Now was not the time to ponder that very interesting question, however.

Hiei stared at him with eyes cold despite the heat within them.

"You've advanced your skills, I see," Kurama observed. "When last we met, you were new to the ways of the Jagan. You only saw Keiko for a moment, and you can already track her whereabouts?"

"Ha!" Hiei's laughter came sharp and hard. "I didn't even see her face, and I can track her."

Kurama filed that tidbit away. Hiei was capable of more than he thought. Still…

"Careful, Hiei," Kurama said. "Even your strength has its limits. Pride goes before the fall, as they say."

The fire demon bared his teeth, feral and vicious. "Feh! I didn't ask for your advice."

"No. Perhaps you didn't." Kurama tilted his head gentle to one side. "And yet, you did come to me for help with this scheme of yours."

"Even I can admit when I need another's expertise," Hiei said, but he sounded less than happy about that fact. "And you're the best there is when it comes to cracking vaults."

"Spirit World vaults are not easily breached," Kurama said.

"The great Kurama, balking at a challenge?" Hiei snapped. "Has associating with the humans made you go soft?"

Though he had earlier manipulated Hiei's pride, Kurama himself was not immune to such tactics, either. He bristled, allowing his spirit energy to leak into the plants at his side. They shifted and shivered with new life, growing at a rapid pace to creep up his arm and twine greedy roots into his hair.

"It isn't wise to insult me, Hiei," Kurama said. "Especially not here."

Hiei's eyes darted to the plants, now trailing tendrils of grasping vegetation toward the hem of his cloak. Kurama wasn't so gauche as to smirk when Hiei's eyes widened, but privately he would admit how much he enjoyed the sight. Hiei showing fear? Now there was a memory to cherish.

"Fine," Hiei spat. "Though if the lure of a challenge can't earn your interest, perhaps the contents of the vault might persuade you."

Kurama lifted a brow. "I'm listening."

That day Kurama learned the whereabouts of the Forlorn Hope.

He agreed to join Hiei's raiding party the day after—after admitting to himself he could use the help to get it, and that he need not solve the problem of saving his mother's life alone.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Keiko's lecture about accepting help might've influenced Kurama's decision to aid Hiei. But that's for another chapter._


	6. Chapter 6: Blackmail is an Ugly Word

Warnings: None

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Deleted scene

Set before the altercation with Hiruko in chapter 30

"Blackmail is Such an Ugly Word"

* * *

When the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, I was almost glad. I bid Kaito and Minamino goodbye and hopped off the windowsill so I could scurry on to class. My thoughts lingered on Hiruko and the story Kagome's grandfather told us about him. The child of gods, thrown into the ocean—

"You seem distracted."

I jerked out of my trance and found Kurama walking at my side. He moved with hands in pockets, head cocked at a gentle, quizzical angle. I scowled at the inscrutable expression on his face. I'd had enough mystery for one day, thank you, without Kurama being cryptic, or nosey, or whathaveyou.

"During lunch," Kurama continued. "You were unusually quiet." He looked almost wounded. "I had to step in and banter with Kaito myself."

"Sorry to subject you to that," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I just needed a break."

His teasing expression faded. "Perhaps you did."

I started to turn away, to walk to class like I'd intended—but I stopped. Kurama gave me a pleasant smile when I turned to him. Kurama was old, at least at heart. He'd been around the supernatural block far more times than I. Was there a way to ask him for advice without giving myself away?

Only one way to find out.

"Hey," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

His chin lifted. "You may."

The words bubbled on my lips, but then the bubbles popped. I ran my hands through my hair with a low curse.

"I don't even know how to phrase it," I said. I couldn't keep a laugh from tumbling free. "Man, I'm so lost I don't even know what questions to ask!" I shook my head, waving in dismissal before I walked away. "You know what? Never mind. Clearly I'm not meant to solve this little problem today."

Before I could get far, his hand—fingers cool, dry, firm—closed around my wrist. I froze at the contact, eyes darting to the sight of his hand where it touched my arm. His long, tapered fingers felt surprisingly rough against my skin. Probably from gardening, if I had to guess.

It was sort of nice, how rough his hands felt. Like maybe he wasn't so perfect, after all. It made him more real, more human…and I'd liked rough hands on men in my old life.

But that was a topic for a much, _much_ different situation. Focus, Keiko. Get your mind out of the gutter.

"Yukimura," Kurama murmured. He got close enough for me to smell him, an earthy scent like turned soil and muddled mint. "What's wrong?"

He let me go when I didn't immediately reply. When his fingers went slack, I pulled my arm away and sighed.

"There's a…person," I said, frustrated when the words came slow. "And I need to ask them a question. Lots of questions. They have answers I need, you see." I scowled to myself, thinking of Hiruko's tendency to banish me as soon as he deemed my questions inconvenient. "Thing is, I can't find them. I can't contact them. They're in control. They want to talk, they can contact me, and if they don't like what I say, they can just leave. I'm powerless when it comes to playing on my terms." I met his calm green eyes with a peeved baring of teeth. "So how do I get them to do what I want? How do I get them to play by my rules, and not theirs?"

Kurama thought on this for a minute. Green eyes grew distant—and was it my imagination, or did his eyes flash with the barest flecks of gold when the light caught the facets of his irises?

"If they are the only one who can initiate contact," he said with ponderous gravity, "it seems to me that one of your only two recourses is to bargain. Give them what they want, in exchange for what you want."

My stomach lurched at the thought of breaking the rules—breaking the rules by leaving Yusuke dead, perhaps, as Hiruko had once suggested. "What if what they want is too much for me to give?"

His lips rose at the corner, hitching into a mischievous smile that set my pulse to fluttering. "Then you must try the second option."

"And that is?" I asked.

He spoke as if he commented on nothing more remarkable than the weather when he said, "Do something they hate." His pleasant, mild smile held more teeth than I could count, somehow. "They'll give you what you want, if they truly want you to stop."

Took me a minute to parse his meaning. When I finally did, my brows shot up, and my lips curled in a smile—of genuine humor, this time.

"So…blackmail?" I asked with a chortle. That was so _him_ , so utterly _Kurama_ , I couldn't help but laugh. "You're telling me to _blackmail_ this person?"

He looked wounded again. "Blackmail is such an ugly word."

"Agreed." I flipped my hair with exaggerated bravado. "I personally prefer 'extortion'."

He laughed like silk rustling over skin. "I prefer 'a tactical agitation of an opponent's pressure points,' but…your word is certainly easier to say." His green eyes definitely glittered with flecks of amber this time; a shiver skated down my back. "Let me know what you decide to do. I'm interested in the results."

"Of course. And thank you." I winked at him, shrewd and subtle. "I thought you might have a trick up your sleeve."

"Always."

"Sly like a fox, that's you."

As was my custom, I ran before he could react. But yes—the look on his face was indeed priceless.

* * *

 _NOTES_ _:_

 _This is for all you KuramaxNQK shippers out there._

" _Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer 'extortion'!" is a quote from Futurama, to give credit where it's due._

 _This scene was deleted from chapter 30, and parts of it were then repurposed for the Hiruko altercation. It's placed right before Hiruko's entrance in chapter 30. I liked NQK and Kurama's banter, but I didn't think Hiruko would wait a day to contact Keiko after she learned his origin, so in the end I couldn't fit this scene into the timeline. But it's cute, and I wrote it all out, so…felt like a waste to never share it. Maybe I'll find another spot to put it in the main story, but for now, enjoy!_


	7. Chapter 7: The Language of Flowers

Warnings: A teeny bit of coarse language.

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Set after NQK begins tormenting Kurama with puns

"The Language of Flowers"

* * *

"Hello, Minamino. Can I trouble you a moment?"

Kurama looked up with an automatic half-smile, polite and cool as always. I'd found him lurking in the greenhouse, just where I suspected to find the wily fox. I trotted to the work table where he sat potting seedlings in a long planter. He took off his gloves and folded his hands atop his knee, legs crossing at the thigh.

"Yukimura," he intoned in his rich, musical voice. "You're never any trouble." A twitching lip telegraphed that that was most definitely a lie. I got the feeling he let me see the truth on purpose. "What brings you here?"

Lifting a hand, I traced my finger down the leaf of a seedling. Kurama's eyes—a green so rich they put jealousy itself to shame—fastened tight on my face. It wasn't often I approached him in the greenhouse. I waited for him to come to lunch, or found him after class. Figured I should let the greenhouse be his sanctuary from my shenanigans.

Not today, though.

Today my shenanigans were very much in need of a certain fox's expertise.

"You employ a certain set of skills," I said, keeping my words careful and quiet. "Today I find said skills most useful." A humble, supplicating bow. "May I request a moment of your time for a consultation?"

He lifted a brow. "My, my. So formal. How can I be of assistance?"

I cracked a crooked smile. "Well…I got into a fight."

His reply was as smooth as it was teasing. "If you're asking for an alibi, I'm afraid I am fresh out. Can I interest you in a stern condemnation of violence, instead?

"Nah. No, thanks. I'm sure my mother will do that later." I turned and gestured at the flowers adorning the planters like jewels. "I'd like to send my opponent a bouquet."

His brow lifted. "Making amends. How mature of you."

"And I'd like this bouquet to express certain thoughts and feelings I currently harbor." I smiled my most chipper, Keiko-at-school smile, all soft warmth and innocently fluttering eyelashes. "You know. Using the language of flowers to communicate?"

"I see." His eyes glittered, seemingly pleased. "I would be happy to help. The language of flowers is regrettably underappreciated."

"Great!" I chirped. Score for Not-Quite-Keiko!

"Now, to business." He leaned forward. "What, exactly, do you want the bouquet to say?"

Ah. Now we reached the difficult bit. I scratched the back of my neck and avoided eye contact. "We-ell…"

His smile vanished. "The sense of trepidation rising in my chest indicates you're up to something."

"Who, me?" I put a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I don't know why you'd say that. I'm _hurt_!"

His stare had teeth like a Venus flytrap. "Yukimura..."

We exchanged a long, loaded look. He won the contest of wills most handily. I dropped my head and kicked a toe at the concrete floor.

I muttered: "…I want to know how to passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flowers, OK?"

Kurama stared at me a moment. Then, movements delicate, he placed his face squarely in the palms of his hands.

"…so you don't want to help, huh?" I observed.

Voice muffled, he replied, "I didn't say that."

"Not _verbally_ ," I said. "But I mean, the whole head-in-hands things…"

"I was merely shocked to hear such a request from you." With a flex of lithe muscle he rose to his feet, as silent as an assassin. "You're normally so _docile_."

I got the sense he was being ironic, but he'd arranged his features in a mask so pleasantly expressionless I was at a loss to say for certain. He breezed past me and through the rows of blooming plants without another word on the subject. Snagging a pair of shears off a table, he approached a planter and deftly clipped a trio of orange flowers from the parent plant.

"Geraniums, for stupidity," he intoned. Another planter, another snip-snip-snip, on and on down the line. "Meadowsweet, for uselessness. Yellow carnations, for disappointment. Orange lilies, for hatred." He turned to me with a veritable riot of flowers cradled in his elbow. This time he allowed a touch of amusement to curl his lip, eyes glimmering with sardonic humor. "Will these convey your intentions, I wonder?"

I smiled back, with the same devious tint. "Most definitely. Thank you _so_ much." I smirked, tossing my hair with a laugh. "I'm sure my 'friend' will _love_ them."

That got a chuckle out of Kurama. He walked to a bench at the front of the greenhouse and pulled a sheet of old newspaper from a bin. "Happy to help."

My brow shot up. "Really?" I asked as he bundled the flowers in the newspaper and tied them up with a bit of twine.

"Of course." He turned to me and bowed, presenting the finished bouquet atop his flat palms. "Assisting you has been the highlight of my day."

Something in his tone told me there was more on his mind, like perhaps he was amused by me, but maybe that wasn't all. Reaching for the flowers, I rolled my eyes and voiced a snarky, "…ri-ight."

Kurama's pleasant smile didn't waver. I stared at him with palpable suspicion, but as my hands closed around the bouquet, a planter brimming with purple blossoms caught my eye. Took a second to realize was I was looking at, but when I did, a wicked thrill coursed up my spine. Smirking, I remembered days spent in my Grandmother's greenhouse, and I recalled the name of the bell-like flowers adorning the slender, upright stalks behind Kurama's unknowing back.

Oh. This would be _good_.

Catching Kurama's eye, I said, "I think you forgot a flower, though. And it'd make this bouquet really _pop_."

Kurama frowned with obvious skepticism and displeasure. Clearly he was not accustomed to being wrong about plants. I walked past him and, taking up the shears he'd left on the table, snipped a sprig of the plant I'd spotted. Kurama approached and stood at my elbow, still frowning.

"I did a little research before I came here," I said. I lifted the sprig and, giggling, tapped the blossoms against his nose. He pulled back with wide eyes, blinking at my playful gesture. "The English name for these is 'foxglove', and they stand for insincerity. Fitting, all things considered." I turned, tucking the foxglove into the bouquet with a conspiratorial wink. "See ya later, Minamino."

I was out the door and halfway across the lawn toward the school by the time I heard the greenhouse door open at my back. Kurama's voice drifted across the grass like the scent of pine borne on a lazy wind.

"One day," he said in a voice of dangerous, velvet certainty, "you and I are going to have a conversation."

I tossed a grin over my shoulder. He met it with a glower—but I saw the smirk tugging at his lips.

"I'm sure we will," I called back.

"It's a promise," he said.

"Neat. I'll hold you to it!"

To that, at least, he did not reply—not that day, anyway.

A week later I found a sprig of blossoms in my shoe locker, pink and white and clinging in bunches to a twig clipped by careful hands. Their scent clung to my clothes, and at lunch, Kurama met my eyes with a bold smirk.

These were plum blossoms, a book from the library informed me.

In the language of flowers they meant, "I keep my promises."

* * *

 _NOTES_ _:_

 _Ikara-O-Kage inspired this while we were chatting about a recent Tumblr post on this subject. Many thanks to her (and that Tumblr post) for teaching me to say "fuck you" with flowers!_

 _I imagine that NQK and Kurama will later start leaving each other flowers in odd places, to passive-aggressively communicate words neither wants to speak. Maybe that'll make it into the main story. We'll see!_

 _This took me about half an hour to write; figured I'd give y'all a small Kurama moment during my month's hiatus. Novel is going…slowly. VERY SLOWLY. But it's still coming along. Miss LC very much and can't wait to come back! Many thanks to all who read this!_


	8. Chapter 8: Just Sayin'

Warnings: None

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Deleted scene: Set during chapter 36, as Kurama and Keiko leave the restaurant

"Just Sayin'"

* * *

"So usually my friend and I go to karaoke after dinner," I told Minamino, "but since it's not really your thing, we can totally do something else." He looked modestly grateful for this suggestion. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "Maybe walk around uptown, see if there's anything going on?"

He inclined his head, eyes skyward. "It _is_ a nice night."

"Cool. Let me just grab my purse."

Minamino waited at the bar while I darted upstairs for my things. When I came back down, I found my mother waiting at the bottom of the steps. She looped her arm through mine and tugged me gently into the stockroom.

"Keiko, honey!" she scolded when we were alone. "You didn't tell me your new friend was _handsome_!"

I gaped at her like a beached guppy. "Mom—"

"He's so cute, Keiko!" She pouted, accusatory and adorable, the portrait of a mother teasing her daughter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Mom, twenty girls at school want to cook him dinner every day," I said. "Of _course_ he's handsome. Just sayin'."

She rolled her eyes at my snark, but giggled. "Good point. But you've really got your work cut out for you."

My brow lifted. "Hm?"

Mom tutted, like I was missing something obvious. "Well, between Yusuke, Kuwabara, and your new friend out there, you've got your pick of the litter when it comes to boys!"

It took every last ounce of willpower to suppress the groan building in my chest. I wasn't able to keep from whining, however, saying: "Mo-om. No dating until I'm done with school, remember?"

"Oh, honey." It was her turn to groan, this time at my seriousness and perpetual disdain for dating. "I'm just joking!"

"I know, I know." I crossed my arms over my chest, huffing. "And besides. It's not like any of the boys like me like that, anyway."

Mom winked. " _Sure,_ honey. Whatever you say. But let me just tell you that friendship is a great start to something more. _Just sayin'_." Before I could protest, or react to her mocking my earlier taunt, she shoved me out of the stockroom and back onto the restaurant floor. "You two go have a good time, OK? No curfew tonight! Have fun!"

I'm sure I would've found it ironic that my mom wanted her teenage daughter to go on dates and break curfew (talk about a role reversal), but at that moment I was too preoccupied with the thought of being alone with Kurama to notice, or care.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Just a small deleted scene from chapter 36. Didn't add much other than her mom's opinion of Kurama's face, so I left it out. Might recycle sometime later. Love writing her mother and couldn't bear to delete this material. XD_

 _I swear the pairing still isn't set in stone, despite the amount of Kurama material I've been producing lately. O_O We haven't even met Hiei!_

 _SUPER BIG THANKS to those who reviewed the flowers chapter! We had a huge turnout and I am SO grateful to each and every one of you: xenocanaan, Counting Sinful Stars, reebajee, Lady Skynet, EmmieSauce, sousie, arhi, CrystalVixen93, ahyeon, Corralinne, buzzk97, ballet022, Gwen F. Katana, Kaiya Azure, FireDancerNix, Guest x2, KaylaMarie517, La Femme Absurde!_


	9. Chapter 9: Flippin' Brilliant

Warnings: Yusuke being a sexist little ass-face, but that's no surprise…

* * *

Children of Misfortune

Set during Not-Quite-Keiko's childhood

"Flippin' Brilliant"

* * *

Even my cold, shriveled, kid-hating heart could see that Japanese kindergarteners were adorable as _fuck_.

Despite all the anime I'd watched in my first life, I wasn't prepared for the uniforms my fellow kindergarteners would wear in my second. Picture tiny, pudgy-cheeked kids toddling around in puffy white bloomers, diaper-like and hilarious. And picture them also wearing smart, sailor-collared navy blazers with gigantic white buttons lined up and down the front like buttons on a clown's suit. Enormous duck-yellow hats with wide, floppy brims completed the ensemble, and when it rained, we all wore colorful rubber booties and stomped in puddles with abandon. We were the very image of clumsy ducklings when we followed our teachers to the local park for recess.

Super cute.

Super, stinkin', _disgustingly_ cute.

Apparently we wore the buttercup hats so teachers could spot us if we ran off during our daily trip to the playground. I thought they made us look like walking flowers, dandelions come to life to run roaring across the jungle gym. Sometimes kids would fall down, staining their bloomers with grass or mud, and they'd cry until a teacher patted their cheek and brushed the embarrassment away.

Yusuke entered my life shortly after we traded the bloomers for khaki shorts (and skorts for girls) in elementary school. We still had to wear the hats, though, which he _hated_. Even at the tender age of seven he possessed an undeniable disdain for authority, throwing his hat into every single toilet made available to him until the teachers got tired of washing the damn thing and said he could go without.

"I can't wait till we're in middle school," he'd grumble when they scolded him. "The big-kid-uniforms are _cool_."

And then he'd glance at me sidelong, grin shit-eating and devious. He'd never tell me what he was thinking when I asked him about that grin, of course. Just said "you'll see" in an annoying, demonic singsong voice (I don't care what anyone says: when children sing, all I hear is Satan) and run off to antagonize the fourth graders.

Little did he know I knew _exactly_ what he was planning, and that I wouldn't take such disrespect lying down.

On our very first day of middle school, I met him at the gates. He wore the proper blue winter uniform he'd long envied (I guess he hadn't yet had time to figure out he liked the green summer version better). I wore the standard girl's uniform: a sailor-collared blazer and a long, pleated skirt. He broke out in a grin when he saw me…that same, shit-eating _smirk_ he'd worn so many times before.

Oh. It was _on_. Good thing I'd come prepared.

"Ready to start middle school, Keiko?" he said when I trotted up. For what was perhaps the first time in his life, he acted the gentleman and bowed, ushering me ahead of him through the school gates. I lifted a brow at the out-of-character gesture. What a little faker.

"I'm ready," I said. "Are _you_?"

"Sure I am." He waved his hand a little harder, smile twitching at the corners as he held back an impish giggle. "After you."

"Sure. OK." I walked past him and through the gate. "C'mon. Let's not be late on our first day."

He didn't answer. He did exactly what I thought he would, instead, and flipped the back of my skirt up over my head.

I stilled. I stood there, vision obscured by pleated fabric, as Yusuke crowed and laughed and bellowed and guffawed.

But then, just as quickly, he fell silent.

I shrugged my skirt off my head. Yusuke stood behind me with the single most stricken expression I'd ever seen from him, face going first white, then red as he realized he'd been played.

"Hey," he said. His fists clenched at his sides. " _Hey_!"

I waited for him to berate me. He did not. His mouth moved, but no accusations came out. What he'd seen had rendered him speechless.

I mean, of _course_ it had.

He'd flipped my skirt and beheld a pair of his own shorts, stolen from his house…with the words "Nice try, LOSER" stitched across the butt in bright pink yarn.

He hadn't been expecting _this_ , judging by his crimson cheeks. _Nice_. But I still had one final jab up my sleeve (er, skirts?). I tossed my hair, winked, and adopted a shit-eating grin that put his to absolute shame.

"Nice try. But it won't work on me, because…I'm _flippin'_ brilliant," I said.

And then I turned and walked away, heels clicking smartly against the school's cobblestone courtyard.

A minute later (talk about a delayed reaction) I heard Yusuke shriek, indignant, at my truly terrible pun.

 _Score._

* * *

NOTES:

 _NQK wore under-shorts for the rest of her life and gave him a lecture on street harassment, the objectification of women, and consent once he started speaking to her again._

 _This came to me today while shopping. I realized I never talked much about Yusuke's chronic skirt-flipping, but I also realized that I would NOT allow him to get away with it (raging feminist, that's me, lol). Yay for pranking a prankster!_

 _MANY THANKS to those who've reviewed since last time! You all rock: CrystalVixen93, MusicOfMadness, EmmieSauce, xenocanaan, Guest, Counting Sinful Stars, Kaiya Azure, ahyeon, o-dragon, buzzk97, wennifer-lynn!_


	10. Chapter 10: The Girl Who Could Have Been

Warnings: None

* * *

 **"The Girl Who Could Have Been"**

 _This is deleted material that I scrapped from early chapters of_ Lucky Child _._

 _In_ Lucky Child _canon, Keiko defends Kuwabara from some punks (during the arc in which he couldn't fight for fear of expulsion from school). The next day she goes to school and Kurama sits with her at lunch. Then the fangirls start picking on her, and then Amagi steps in to put that drama to bed._

 _However, in an early draft of that arc, I wasn't going to use those fangirls at all. Instead I created a girl-gang-leader who went to Meiou and got angry that Keiko had beaten up some of her cronies while defending Kuwabara. Keiko would've been picked on by HER instead of Kurama's fangirls._

 _Meet Homura Mai, the girl who could have been, below._

* * *

She wore a Meiou uniform, unlike the guys, who wore clothes I vaguely recognized from a school across town. I vaguely recognized the chick, too, though more distinctly than the uniform. We shared one class, maybe two? Whatever. It wasn't like I knew her name. The girl—about my height with bleached hair and a mouth-morphing scowl—looked me up and down as she smacked on a piece of gum. One of her unbleached eyebrows rose.

"That her?" she said.

The punks (who had been staring at me with ill-disguised malice) looked down at their feet as one and mumbled an affirmative.

"Ha! She doesn't look so tough," the girl said. She marched right up to me, paying not a lick of attention to our classmates as they walked past us and onto the school grounds. "Yukimura Keiko, right?"

I squared my feet under my body. Nodded curtly. The girl's lips curled at the corners.

"So _you're_ the bitch you beat up my boyfriends," she said.

Boyfriends, plural? Interesting. And if I hadn't known any better, I would've sworn she looked impressed—only the predatory glint in her dark eye promised retribution, not compliments.

"You weren't hard to find, y'know," she said. She blew a large bubble with her gum, then popped it. "Name-dropping Urameshi Yusuke like that? Rumor has it a friend of his just transferred here. Wasn't hard to put two and two together. You should try t' be less obvious next time."

"It's rude to ask for my name and not give yours in return," I murmured.

The girl blinked. Behind her, the three punks stiffened. They relaxed when the chick started to laughing, though, mouth so wide I feared she'd drop her bubblegum.

"Sorry, sorry!" she said. She stuck out her hand, American-style. I took it. Her grip was firm, far firmer than any typical Japanese handshake. "I'm Homura Mai." Her grin widened. "And I'm sorry to say that I've gotta pay you back for what you did to my boys. Woman to woman, ya get me?"

Around us, classmates chattered as they walked onto the school grounds. We stood a few feet outside the gate on the sidewalk. Some students walked past us without sparing us a second glance, but some of the upperclassman…their eyes darted toward Homura and darted away just as fast. No one outright ran away, or looked scared of her, but those telltale shifted glances spoke volumes.

This girl had a reputation, it seemed. One I knew nothing about. Best play this carefully, Keiko…

"Sorry," I said. "Your boyfriends were picking on my friend, and I'm afraid he can't fight at the moment. Call it transferred self-defense." I shrugged, maintaining a neutral mask as Homura narrowed her eyes. "They started it. But I won't go near them again, if that's what you want."

* * *

I caught Amagi at the lockers. She listened to my story—the punk-ass girl at the gate, getting tripped by her cronies during class—in polite silence (I mean, it wasn't like we were _friends_ or anything) until I name-dropped Homura herself. At that Amagi gasped, one hand covering her pink lips in horror.

"Homura? Oh god. You didn't run afoul of her, did you?"

"Seems that way."

Amagi took me by the elbow, tugging me to the end of our locker row by the windows, where no one could sneak up on us. "Keiko, listen, you should just do what she said. You're new here, but her brother used to be king punk around here, and she's taken on that mantle since his graduation—with gusto."

I sighed. "So even fancy schools like Meiou have their fighters, huh?"

"Unfortunately. When her brother graduated she started giving orders to his…cronies? She calls them her boyfriends now. Most of them have graduated, but she's managed to amass a bit of a following despite that." Amagi shrugged. "She is far less threatening than her brother, but…"

"But now she's on my case." I breathed upward through my mouth, bangs fluttering atop my brow. "Great."

"What did you even do to her?"

"Um…I beat up some of her boyfriends?"

Amagi's jaw dropped. "You _what_?!"

Amagi, I'm sorry to say, never quite looked at me the same way again.

* * *

 _Afterword :_

 _And that's the deleted material that's been sitting on my hard drive for the better part of a year. Nothing too noteworthy, but I rather like Mai and wanted to share her with you. The fangirls seemed more interesting than Mai since they helped me deconstruct/examine a fandom cliché, but I'll always think warmly of the Girl Who Could Have Been._

 **NEXT TIME I UPDATE, it'll be with a chapter from Botan's POV, relating to events in chapters 55-56 of _Lucky Child_. Be on the lookout for that!**


	11. Chapter 11: April Fool's Day

Warnings: None

* * *

Children of Misfortune

"April Fool's Day"

* * *

It was April 1, 1991, and Kurama stared at the plastic bag in my hand with one brow raised alarmingly high. I shoved the bag into my shoe locker and out of sight, trying to play it off as nothing suspicious whatsoever, nope, nothing to see here—but it was too late. Kurama had caught sight of the bag's colorful contents, contents most definitely _not_ allowed on school grounds, and his curiosity had been piqued. He leaned against the locker next to mine and crossed his arms over his chest, staring while I pretended to act casual. Around us, other students exchange their outdoor shoes for their indoors slippers before the start of the school day.

"What do you have there?" he said, voice silken amidst the chatter of the other students.

"Oh. Um." I tucked my hair behind my ears, trying not to look totally guilty. "Nothing special."

"Then why are you being so secretive?"

"No reason."

"Kei," he said.

Kurama didn't need to use logic to draw out the truth. He just stared, eyes intense and bold, until I caved under the pressure of his silence with a sigh. "OK, fine," I said. "For your information, I'm playing an absolutely _hilarious_ April Fool's Day joke on Yusuke."

I opened my locker and parted the plastic bag, shielding it from other students with my body. Kurama leaned toward my locker to take a closer look. His brow shot up even higher.

"You're playing a joke with _those_?" he said.

"Yes."

Now his brow threatened to merge with his hairline. "Forgive me if I'm being obtuse, but where in this situation, precisely, does the humor lie?"

"It lies in the unexpected." I shut my locker and cupped my hand around my mouth to whisper, "Come with me after school if you want to know more."

His eyes gleamed, barest bits of gold flecking around his pupil. "Color me intrigued," Kurama said, and after school I found him waiting for me by the front gate.

* * *

Atsuko answered the door after only the first knock, unusually alert despite the bottle of beer hanging loosely from her fingertips. "Hey, Keiko," she said, words only barely slurring. "Yusuke isn't home right now."

"Good." I held up my bag and shook it. "I was hoping he wouldn't be."

Her eyes lit up in recognition when I opened the top of the sack and showed her what lay within. She released a slow whistle, impressed, and took a swig of beer.

"On the ceiling or in drawers this time?" she asked.

"I'm thinking closet ceiling, actually," I confessed. "New twist on an old favorite."

She cracked a lopsided grin. "Good call. He hardly ever goes in his closet. Too busy leaving his crap in piles on the floor, natch." Atsuko's eyes flicked over my shoulder. "Who's your friend?"

Kurama, behind me, smiled his most winning smile. I stepped back and gestured at him. "Oh! Atsuko, this is—um?"

I faltered at the name. Kurama's smile faltered a little, both of us stumbling over his names since Atsuko was technically in-the-know about the supernatural—but Atsuko spared us the agony of deciding on Kurama vs. Shuichi. Her eyes scanned Kurama top to bottom before she cracked a languid smile.

"Red hair, green eyes, bad with introductions. You're the one with two names, right?" At Kurama's surprised expression she said, "Yeah, my son's mentioned you a few times." She tipped him a gummy, drunken wink. "Don't worry. I don't go to PTA meetings. Your secret's safe with me, _Shuichi_."

He looked both relieved and alarmed, somehow, a veritable feat of facial expression. "Thank you for your discretion," he said, and I think he wanted to change the subject because he nodded at my hands and the bag within them. "Now, about that?"

Atsuko ushered us indoors, where I led the way to Yusuke's bedroom. True to her word we found said bedroom buried under piles of clothes and trash, the room of a teenage boy to its very core. I picked my way over the debris toward the closet door, snagging his desk chair on the way. Kurama watched from his spot by the bedroom door as I kicked clothes out of the way to open the closet and drag the chair inside.

"What are you doing?" he said as I stood on the chair.

I tossed a grin over my shoulder. "I am gluing these—" (I pulled an object out of my bag) "—to Yusuke's ceiling."

Kurama eyed the copy of _Crash Bandicoot_ in my hand with lighthearted confusion. He looked between it and the bag hanging from my elbow, which contained an additional eight copies of _Crash_ _Bandicoot_ , as though he'd just been asked the most complicated riddle in the world. He appeared to struggle with words before saying _"Why?"_ in a tone that sounded absolutely, adorably helpless.

I shrugged, uncapping the bottle of glue I'd brought with us. "No reason." I scowled. "Though it's cost me at least a month's worth of my allowance."

Kurama was not convinced. "I thought you said this was for April Fool's Day."

"That's… kind of just an excuse, really? Yusuke and I prank each other all the time." I sighed, rolling my eyes as I coated one of the game boxes in glue. "Yusuke started our little prank war a long time ago."

Somehow Atsuko heard this claim from all the way in the living room. "That's not what _he_ says!" she called.

"Of _course_ that's not what he says!" I returned. "He's an asshole!"

Atsuko replied, "Truth!"

The two of us cackled in unison. Kurama looked between the bedroom door and me in mystified turns. Eventually I settled down, sticking a copy of the video game to Yusuke's ceiling and pressing it tight so the glue would set.

"Anyway," I said. "Despite what he would have you believe, he _definitely_ started this. Every day in elementary school Yusuke stole my hardboiled eggs, so I started hiding pencil erasers in his gym shoes, and it just escalated from there. Now we leave random crap in random places in each other's rooms and wait for each other to notice." I snickered into my hand. "Once he didn't find the Barbie magazine I'd hidden in his pillowcase for three months, which makes me wonder how often he does laundry, but anyway." I pointed at the game on the ceiling. "He probably won't notice _these_ for ages."

Kurama's smile looked more polite than truly humored. "I'm sorry, Kei, but I'm afraid I don't quite understand. What is the point in playing this prank if Yusuke doesn't notice what you've done?" He coughed into a fist, embarrassed. "I was under the impression April Fool's is a time-sensitive event."

"I mean. It technically is?" I scratched the back of my neck, awkward all of a sudden. "But I like to think of April Fool's Day as a state of mind as opposed to a single day of the year." It was a joke, mostly, and lucky for me Kurama took it as such. I beamed when he laughed, coating another copy of the game with glue. "Admittedly, Yusuke might not notice the games on April Fool's Day itself, but he'll sure as hell notice me smirking and making _Crash_ _Bandicoot_ puns for no reason over the next few weeks—and he knows we well enough to know that when I make incessant puns, I'm up to something." I couldn't help but throw back my head and perform an evil laugh, fingers crooked into claws, face contorted into a mask of hideous merriment. "He'll probably turn his room upside down for weeks looking for these bad boys, once he catches on! It's gonna be _great!_ "

"I see." Kurama laughed again, finally catching on. "Thank you for explaining." He paused, seemingly weighing his words before admitting, "I'm afraid demons aren't the pranking kind."

"Oh?" I said.

"Pranks between demons can become lethal, and quickly." A resigned shrug. "Simple shows of humor like this are rare."

I blanched at his casual admission of violence. "Remind me not to get in a prank war with you, huh?"

"Noted," he said—and his smile turned the lightest shade of wicked. "Especially if it will spare me your puns."

I pretended to be offended with a dramatic gasp, wrist thrown across my forehead as if I meant to faint. "How dare you?! My puns are _magnificent!_ "

Kurama laughed, offering to help me glue all nine copies of _Crash Bandicoot_ to the ceiling in apology. I handed him the glue with a flourish, but I had to wonder if he truly understood the urge to prank someone else in a harmless fashion. Kurama, in many ways, was still learning to be human. Hopefully this April Fool's taught him a little something he hadn't known before—even if it involved attaching a fuck-ton of video games to the top of someone else's closet for no particular reason whatsoever.

* * *

Four months later my phone rang at about 2 AM, waking me from a very good dream involving champagne, expensive cheese, and the entire cast of _Hamilton_. I groped for the handset with a muttered curse and lifted it to my ear, blearily muttering "Who the hell is this?" into the receiver.

"You wanna fucking tell me why there's no less than eight copies of _Crash_ -goddamn- _Bandicoot_ glued to the ceiling of my closet, Grandma?"

"Nine copies, actually." I grinned into my pillow at the sound of his indignant squawk. "Happy belated April Fool's, Yusuke."

"Yeah, you too," he grumbled. "Sweet dreams, old lady—though be careful to cherish those dreams while they last."

"Hmm?"

"Those dreams might be your… _Final Fantasy_."

I sat bolt upright in bed. I knew that tone. I knew that sneaky, conniving tone and I wasn't so sleepy that I didn't recognize a video game pun when one hit me in the face at 2 AM on a school night. "Goddammit, Yusuke, where the fuck did you hide it?" I whisper-screamed into the phone.

"What, and spoil the suspense?" Yusuke cackled like the devil he very much was. "Not a chance! Happy hunting, Grandma!"

He hung up before I could wring the truth of out him, and with an irate sigh I slid out of bed and began to search. The April Fool's joke was on _me_ , it turned out—but I'd pay Yusuke back for it, all in good time.

I had at least seven copies of _Spyro the Dragon_ stashed in my closet, after all.

Yusuke wouldn't know what hit 'em, and it wouldn't take till next April Fool's Day for me to get my revenge, that's for freaking certain.

* * *

 _NOTES_

 _Quick April Fool's one-shot I wrote in about 30 minutes. I definitely think Yusuke and NQK have an ongoing (and very petty/random) practical joke war going on that it will last (and has lasted) for years. The specific joke in this chapter was inspired by a Tumblr post regarding intimacy in friendships, and how it can manifest as pranks. The games mentioned are a little anachronistic for 1991, but oh well. Thanks for reading!_


	12. Chapter 12: New Year's Eve Omakes

_Warnings : None_

 ** _NOTE : DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CHAPTER 75 of LUCKY CHILD._**

* * *

Children of Misfortune

"New Year's Eve Omakes"

* * *

 ** _This first scene takes place the New Year's Eve following Yusuke's death, while he's still in a coma and before his resurrection. It is to be read after chapter 75 of Lucky Child. Spoilers lie ahead._**

* * *

He came in from the cold with his scarf wrapped completely around his face, looking uncannily like a _babushka_ from a Russian postcard. I met him at the door, eyes on the package wrapped in wax paper under his arm. In truth I'd been waiting there for the better part of an hour, but he didn't need to know it. Dad caught me staring and sighed, rubbing at his cold-reddened nose with his fingers.

"You sure about this, kid?" he asked.

I nodded.

Another sigh, but he relinquished the package without comment.

Our New Year's dinner didn't last long. We ate the buckwheat noodles and rice cake soup in the living room upstairs and in just minutes, eyes locked on the TV and this year's edition of _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ —until Atsuko showed up drunk on our doorstep with a bottle of sake in hand, a stray cat from a Ghibli movie come a-callin'. Dad carried her upstairs and into my parents' bedroom, where Mom sat at her side and spooned _ozōni_ into her mouth while murmuring gentle encouragements. I couldn't hear them over the TV after a while, but knowing Atsuko was there while Yusuke slept in bed at home—

I tried not to think about it too hard. Tried not to fiddle with the twine around the package Dad had brought me, though at that I certainly failed. I held the package on my lap under the kotatsu, fingers raw beneath the nail from toying with the rough string.

"You don't have to do it, you know."

Dad spoke apropos of nothing as a member of White Team sang. I looked at him and frowned; he smiled back, though a tightness beside his eyes said he didn't really feel it.

"Yusuke won't mind," Dad said.

Suddenly I knew what he was talking about. "But I'll mind," I said, and I pointedly returned my attention to the TV.

The show droned on until after 11 PM, and it ended with all the usual fanfare expected of this series—although I didn't react much even as Red Team lost. Felt only fitting Yusuke's usual team should earn victory in Yusuke's absence. I pointed at the final score as it popped up, shooting Dad a look askance.

"See?" I said. "I lost. Fair and square."

"Fair?" His brows shot up. "You lost a bet you didn't even make."

"Yusuke wouldn't see it that way."

"But he's not here, honey."

He spoke with maddening sincerity, as if explaining basic addition to someone far too old to be learning such a simple procedure. I glared, unable to keep the look from turning as acidic as a lemon.

"So?" I said. "So what?"

"So it's not healthy torture yourself like this for nothing," he said.

"It's not for nothing."

"It's certainly not for _something_."

My hands lifted from beneath the kotatsu, fingers spreading across the low table's smooth top. Every last ounce of my restraint kept my voice level as I said, "Then why did you even get me the pepper this year if you don't support—?"

A wail echoed from down the hall. I fell quiet. Dad and I looked as one toward the door, toward the sound of Atsuko's sobs and my mother's crooned comforts. Eventually Atsuko quieted again; Dad turned off the TV, filling the small living room with silence.

"I'm going to me room," I said.

Dad did not stop me when I left.

My bare feet whispered over the cold floor as I padded down the hall. In my room I did not bother to turn on the overhead light. I went to my desk and flicked on the lamp, a single point of hard illumination in the otherwise dark night. From my desk drawer I pulled an egg timer; I placed it on the desk, the bell inside it chiming just a little as plastic tapped against wood. Slowly I untied the twine around the package, and even with even more lethargy I unwrapped the wax paper concealing the small cardboard box within. The box opened with a flick of my thumbnail. Inside on a bed of cotton lay a single pepper, long and red and curved, with a green stem and a pointed tip. A serrano. Not as hot as the habanero we usually ate. Clearly Dad trying to lessen my misery tonight.

Too bad I had every intention of suffering tonight. That was kind of the whole point.

As if I had initiated a summoning rite, there came a knock at the door. Dad called through it, "Keiko. It's not that I don't support you."

I took a deep breath. "Then what?"

A pause. Then: "I just thought… I thought buying the pepper would make tonight feel more normal." Boards creaked under his weight as he shifted in place. "But I don't know if that was the right thing to do."

I swallowed. "Nothing will feel normal until he comes back."

"If he comes back."

"Until. I have faith." I lifted the pepper from the box. Turned it this way and that, almost able to see my reflection in its shiny skin. "Which is why I have to eat this. When he wakes up, he'll be mad if I fell down on our deal."

Another long pause, and then I heard him sigh. "OK. OK. I get it," he said. "Just let me get you some milk first, all right?"

"… sure."

I tracked his progress through the house by listening for the creak of old floorboard, each one just a little different in their sound, each one particular to a certain section of the house. He left and came back and soon my door opened, revealing Dad carrying a glass of cold milk in one hand. He approached like I'd turned into a feral dog, giving me space as he walked so, so gingerly to my bed and sat on it. Dark eyes lingered on the pepper in my hand as if wary it might bite him, too.

I didn't wait for him to say anything, or for him to try and dissuade me again. I ate the pepper in two swift bites and grabbed the egg timer as spice suffused my mouth. With a twist of my wrist I set the dial to five minutes; ticking filled the quiet air as tears filled my eyes, and with a groan I sat beside my father on my bed.

When he tried to hand me the milk, I shook my head. Clutched my cheeks in my hands, put my elbows on my knees, and breathed deeply through my nose.

"No. Five minutes. That's the deal," I ground out.

Dad set the milk on my desk. An arm snaked around my shoulders, and soon my streaming eyes turned into crying ones. I pressed my face into his shirt with a muffled sob. Dad stroked my hair, sighing.

"You've got faith in that boy," he said.

I sobbed again, strangled.

"If he does wake up—"

"When," I corrected through my teeth and burning lips.

"—he'd better be careful not to pull this little stunt again. If he dies again, I'll drag him back from hell and kill him myself." A low, wry chuckle. "Those peppers aren't easy to find this time of year."

"… thanks, Dad," I mumbled.

We waited out the timer in silence.

As it went off, and as I downed the glass of milk, New Year's bells in the distance began to ring.

* * *

 ** _This next scene is a small deleted bit bridging the last two scenes of chapter 75. It takes places after Keiko's toast on the rooftops, as the bells ring and the fireworks go off._**

* * *

As I stood and watched the fireworks bloom against the stars, someone called my name.

To my horror, they sounded _pissed_.

"What the— _Keiko?!"_ my mother shrieked. "Is that _you?_ What the heck are you doing on the roof?!"

Every last person on said roof tensed, staring at me with wide, panicked eyes. I ducked low and scrambled for the edge of the house, peering over the gutter and into the alley below. My parents, all their friends, the Kuwabara family, and even Shiori stood together in a knot, staring up at the fireworks, too—only Mom was staring at me, now, with hands on her hips and shock on her face.

"Urk!" I looked over my shoulder and waved. "Everybody, keep low and fuckin' _cheese it!"_

Since I had been standing, the only person my mother could see up here was me, meaning there was time for everyone else to avoid getting caught—provided Yusuke could get them out in time. His eyes bugged out of his skull; he whisper-shouted instructions at the others, shepherding them toward the drain pipe on the other side of the roof. We'd shimmied down that pipe a number of times to escape getting caught up here. He'd know what to do.

I looked back over the edge of the roof again. "Uhhh… hi, Mom!" I said, waving. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Fancy meeting—?! What the _heck_ are you doing?!" she yodeled. "Get down from there this instant!"

I laughed and scratched the back of my neck, buying time for my fleeing friends. "Sure thing, Mom, sorry, I just really wanted to see the fireworks—"

She stomped one foot on the ground, apparently unaware that her friends were all staring at her instead of the fireworks at that point. "Keiko, now! It's not safe! You'll fall and crack your head open!"

There came a clatter from my right; Mom and I looked to see Eimi swinging her leg over my windowsill and onto the roof. Her legs shook all the while, and she clung to said sill even as she tried to smile bravely at my mother.

"We were watching her, Yukimura-san!" Eimi said, voice trembling just a tad.

Michiko stuck her head out the window and waved. "Yeah, we were watching her!"

"We wouldn't have let anything bad happen, we promise!" Eimi warbled even as her knees knocked together. "It's fine, honest!"

"You two, too?!" Mom said. " _All three of you_ get back in there before you fall and crack your heads and—!"

We did as asked, the girls climbing inside and collapsing in a quivering heap as I vaulted over them and raced down the stairs like the devil nipped at my keels. I managed to beat Mom down there, cutting her off just outside the laundry room, where she then proceeded to deliver unto me a spirited lecture about safety and responsibility and _what the hell were you thinking, young lady, climbing out on a roof like that?! Do you want to die like Yusuke? Huh?_ It was really very impressive, the lurid picture my mother painted of my head cracking open like a melon under a hammer, and I bore this lecture with patience until she ran out of steam.

As soon as she did, and as soon as she gave me one last glare and went back into the alley to finish watching the fireworks, I bolted into the dining room and pelted toward the front door.

I saw them all as I rounded the corner around the edge of the kitchen. My friends stood in a gaggle, puffing and panting, all of them barefoot since we'd crawled onto the roof sans shoes. They saw me skid to a stop and began to giggle as one, laughing despite their shivers since they'd run back inside through the dark winter chill. They had every reason to laugh, of course. They'd probably been able to hear every last word of my mother's lecture; I'd laugh, too, if I got to avoid such a dressing down.

Not that Yusuke was put off. He caught my eye and grinned like the devil, winking as through the open restaurant door I caught the scent of gunpowder and saw a burst of pale pink light, street awash with color in the fireworks. Bells clanged like falling stones, and Yusuke pitched his voice high over them to be heard.

"Nothing like a bit of deviancy to start the New Year right, huh?" Yusuke said—and I felt very much inclined to agree.

* * *

 ** _The following takes places immediately after chapter 75._**

 ** _It is from Kurama's point of view._**

* * *

Botan's voice cracked as she said: "I just don't understand where she could have _gone_."

She sat at the bottom of the stairs in the Yukimura family restaurant, an ugly orange shirt and a pair of bright purple shorts sitting folded on her lap. Yusuke and Kuwabara were not there, instead making another lap around the building to search in vain for Kei—but Kurama knew they would not find her.

His nose told him what his conscious mind so desperately refused to accept.

Yusuke and Kuwabara had just returned to the living room when they heard that brief, strangled shriek from the ground floor, Kei's voice muffled but unmistakable even at a distance. At first Kurama thought she had laughed, but the faint undercurrent of panic bubbling under the high-pitched keen had raised the hairs on his arms too high for the mistaken impression to linger. Yusuke hadn't been fooled for a moment, though. He whispered Kei's name, then yelled it, pelting down the hall and then barreling down the stairs three at a time—but all they'd found in the restaurant was a pile a of clothes at the foot of the steps Botan now occupied. Neatly folded, they'd found the clothes, though a touch askew as if Kei had dropped them in a hurry, with Kei herself nowhere to be found. Kurama didn't know what to make of it, but he refused to panic, to succumb to despair like Botan. He had to keep a cool head. Cool heads would prevail, and without a cool head, he had no hope of finding Kei.

Again, for the fourth or fifth time in the past five minutes, he flared his energy once, twice, three times in quick succession.

Botan shifted in her spot on the steps, shooting him a disapproving look through tear-stained eyes. "Do you have to do that so close to me?"

Kurama frowned. "You could feel that?"

"I can feel a lot these days." One shaking finger tapped her forehead, bare behind its blue bangs, but Kurama knew the hidden truth. "Or I can sense more than before, at least. Yusuke has been helping me learn to block things out, but it's slow going. Keiko would be a much better teacher than—"

She stopped talking. Once more her eyes filled with tears. Botan stood up and handed the clothes to Kurama, wiping her face and pacing like a caged tiger around the dim restaurant without a word. Kurama had not known Botan before her altercation with the Shadow Sword, but it was clear she had undergone a dramatic change since Hiei had cut her. Kurama wondered what she might be capable of now that a Spirit had been so changed by demonic energy, what techniques and unprecedented powers Botan could potentially—

Stop, Kurama told himself.

Now was not the time for such petty curiosities.

As Botan paced, Kurama examined the clothes in his hands for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Kei's scent clung to the clothes like subtle perfume. Paper and sandalwood, shea butter and lavender, her scent was unmistakable—but no fresh trail of it led out of the dining room. Her scent clung heaviest to those clothes, like she might still be standing there holding them if not for her conspicuous absence.

His human heart began to beat a little faster. He breathed deep to make it stop. He would not panic. Not if it could cloud his judgment and keep him from finding Kei.

Kurama _refused_ to panic—though standing around idle certainly wasn't helping that effort in any meaningful capacity.

Thankfully, soon he heard feet pound the sidewalk outside. Kuwabara and Yusuke came in through the front door, panting and sweaty even though they'd foregone coats when they went outside to search for Kei. "Did she come back?" Yusuke said as soon as he entered. He did not bother to take off his shoes, marching straight inside toward Kurama (without a backward glance at Kuwabara, who remained polite even in crisis and had paused to remove his sneakers at the threshold).

"No," Kurama said. "She did not return."

Kuwabara trotted over, standing at Yusuke's side. "We didn't see her, either," he said, running both hands through his frizzing pompadour. Panic turned his dark eyes darker still. "And I know she doesn't have a lot of Spirit Energy, but still—I can't sense her at all."

"Do you think she went somewhere?" Botan said. "Do you think maybe she went—?"

But Kurama shook his head before she could finish; she fell quiet. "No. Her trail ends and begins here. It's as if she's vanished."

"But how can Keiko have simply disappeared?" Botan pressed.

And wasn't that the crux of this most bizarre mystery? Kurama surveyed the room yet again, looking for another sign or clue he might have missed—but nothing noteworthy availed itself. No sign of a struggle. Nothing out of place. No scent trail to follow. Just the clothes in his hands, neatly folded but dropped haphazardly on the floor. In all truth, Kei's disappearance made no sense whatsoever. A scream, and then—gone. Vanished as if spirited away. But _how?_

And perhaps more importantly: _Why?_

Kurama's fist clenched at his side, nails cutting into his wide palm. Although he knew he was not at fault for this, he had been the reason Kei ventured downstairs. She had gone down to get him clothes. He was not at fault, but he was certainly the impetus for this event—and he should have _known_. He had had absolutely no reason to suspect this might happen, but he should have known anyway. He should have gone with her. He should have fetched the clothes himself instead of letting her wait on him. He should have—

Kurama took a deep breath.

He needed to calm down.

He needed to keep a cool head.

 _He needed to find Kei, now._

Before he could plan how to do exactly that, however, energy flickered on Kurama's periphery. The side door of the restaurant, the one by the kitchen, creaked open to reveal a lithe silhouette topped by a riot of spiky hair. Botan and the others tensed, but Kurama held up a hand and shook his head as the silhouette strode forward, coming into the light to expose the face of a friend.

"Are you attempting to be utterly annoying, or is that just a natural talent of yours, fox?" Hiei said as he revealed himself.

"Hiei!" The name burst from Kuwabara's lips like a small bomb. "Never thought I'd be happy to see you, but buddy, right now I sure as hell am."

Yusuke marched forward and clapped Hiei on the shoulder with a grin, though the smile did not touch his eyes. "Yeah, great timing—we could really use your help."

" _My_ help?" Hiei scowled, scarlet gaze swinging toward Kurama with dripping accusation. "Is _that_ why you've been trying to get my attention?"

Kurama had no time to banter, however, and saw no reason for subtlety. "Kei has gone missing," he said—and he tried to ignore the hollow feeling that opened in his chest at that admission.

The combative gleam in Hiei's eyes dimmed. "Meigo?" he said, voice rough with alarm. "When?"

"We heard a scream only minutes ago and came downstairs immediately, only to find her gone." Kurama's pulse quickened; he regulated his energy, coaxing its rhythm back into a steady gait. Cool heads would prevail, not panicked ones. "The scream was faint, but I heard it, Hiei. She was in danger."

Hiei took that in—but then his lip curled. "And you sensed nothing?"

Kurama had no time to indulge his pride and feel incensed by Hiei's insult, letting it slide off his back like so much water. "No. The trail starts and ends here, where we found these clothes in this spot." He gestured at said clothes, fingers tightening around them. "Her scent trail drops off where we found them. She did not leave the restaurant on foot."

Kuwabara's head jerked back. "Wait, you can _smell her?"_ he blurted. "Gross!"

Kurama did not bother to look anything less than baleful at that comment. "I am a fox, Kuwabara, and I will use the tools at my disposal in this matter." As Kuwabara sputtered something he did not bother to track, Kurama looked back at the fire demon. "I suggest you do the same, Hiei."

"I don't need to be told what to do," Hiei said with a harrumph, and behind the cloth around his forehead came a distinct purple glow. Kurama's skin tingled as the Evil Eye's energy washed over him, spreading outward as it searched. Hiei said, "You're losing your touch, fox, if you can't keep track of one simple human girl—"

Hiei stopped talking.

He frowned.

His eyes shut (the red ones, anyway) as he fell silent. The purple glow intensified, moments bleeding into moments until nearly two minutes passed in silence.

Tentative, Botan whispered to Yusuke: "Do you think I could use my eye like that someday? If I practiced enough?"

Yusuke shrugged. "I mean, maybe? But now's really not the time."

Kuwabara stepped forward, reaching for Hiei's elbow but thinking better of it at the last minute. "Are you getting anything, Hiei?" he said, wringing his hands together. "Do you see her?"

Hiei showed his teeth, but he did not open his eyes when he spat, "Quiet, fool."

"Hurry, Hiei," Botan urged. "We need to find—"

"I said quiet!" Hiei barked, but soon after the glow of his Jagan faded. He opened his eyes, face contorted into a look of vicious resentment. "I see nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Yusuke said.

"I mean I see nothing. She isn't there."

"Well, look harder, then!" Kuwabara said. He took a step forward, towering over Hiei (though Hiei looked less than impressed) with fists clenched. "I swear to god if you're being lazy—"

"I would do no such thing!" Hiei snarled. "I looked thoroughly enough, and I'm telling you she isn't there!"

Hiei's language struck a wire in Kurama's brain, making it sing with suspicions and theories. "Isn't there?" he said, quoting Hiei's words with care.

"Isn't _anywhere_ ," Hiei replied. "The Jagan can find anything unless it's warded—or unless it doesn't actually exist."

Kuwabara paled, hand covering his mouth as if he might be sick. "Does that—does that mean she's—?"

Botan and Yusuke started to look sick, too, the former's eyes filling with tears as the latter went rigid through the shoulders. Kuwabara did not have to say "dead" for his implication to be obvious; his dire expression said it all.

Hiei, however, had no time for Kuwabara's delicacy. "No, you fool," he snarled. "The Jagan can find the remains of the dead. It has done so before, time and again, with ease. I mean quite literally that if the Jagan can't find her, _she does not exist._ "

"But what does that mean, Hiei?" said Botan, stepping toward him with eyes huge. "What do you mean, Keiko does not exist?"

Hiei paused. Looked into the middle distance. Rolled his lips together and glared at anyone who would meet his livid eyes.

"I have no idea," Hiei admitted.

And despite Kurama's cool head—the cool head he valued, the one he refused to relinquish to panic, the one that would surely prevail—he had no idea what Hiei meant, either, nor what they should do next to bring Kei safely home.

Or even how to find her, to begin with.

* * *

 _NOTES_ _:_

 _I'm bad at being on hiatus, apparently. Hope you enjoyed!_


	13. Chapter 13: Ring Any Bells?

Warnings: None

NOTE: This can be read any time after chapter 15 of _Lucky Child_ and does not spoil anything in _LC_. Also, talking on commuter trains in Japan is considered impolite. A Japanese kindergarten is called a " _yo-chien."_

* * *

Children of Misfortune

An _omake_ in which Kagome shares a discovery with Keiko titled:

"Ring Any Bells?"

* * *

Keiko looked the storefront up and down, long and slow and careful, while I held my breath at her side. Eventually she turned to me. Lifted a brow.

She said: "So… a toy store?"

My face fell as Keiko turned back to the glittering sign above the huge double doors, reading the words "Daidouji Toy Co." without expression. The only glow came from that luminous sign, not a single spark of recognition lighting Keiko's amber gaze. The toy store was huge, two stories tall and outfitted with enormous windows; gigantic stuffed bears rotated inside them on silver displays, colorful felt animals crowding the panes of glass like eager zoo escapees.

And Keiko didn't even _flinch_.

Somehow I was both surprised and totally not shocked at all by this turn of events. Talk about contrast, right? Keiko and I had had a hundred talks about anime and our past-life interests, and I knew for a fact Keiko was a One Trick Anime Pony. Girl freaking _loved_ Yu Yu Hakusho, her knowledge of the series nigh encyclopedic—or some might even say she was a teensy bit obsessed, but you didn't hear that from me. In terms of other anime, though? She was… what's the word. A neophyte? Nah, a _filthy casual?_ Yeah, that's it. Eeyore liked one anime to the point of unhealthy fixation and basically watched nothing else.

So, there we were. Color me not shocked at all, even if I thought maybe, just maybe, she'd catch on at the sight of this store alone. It was connected to something kind of ubiquitous from our childhoods, after all, and while Keiko didn't have a wide range of anime interests under her belt, she wasn't _oblivious_.

And yet—nothing. She stood there on the sidewalk staring at the store I'd brought her to without seeing it for what it was. Like, _at all_. Talk about disappointing.

Speaking of disappointing: So much for gently easing Eeyore into this, right? I'd wanted to pull the whole "boil the frog slowly" thing, or whatever it's called. Drop her into warm water, let it heat up around her bit by bit so she didn't freak out and jump out of the pot. But at this rate Keiko would have a panic attack before the day was out, even if I'd had buttered her up with a nice meal at a good Tokyo restaurant ahead of time. Had taken up most of my allowance, but hopefully it would be worth it.

Hopefully.

But we'd see soon enough.

Keiko looked at me askance, lips crooking at the corners. "I didn't take you for the plush-collecting type, Tigger."

"First of all, wrong-o, _I totally am_ ," I said, eyeing the eight-foot-tall stuffed giraffe in the window with undisguised longing. I put it out of my head when I turned to Keiko, searched her face, and asked, "Second… that name rings no bells?"

She shrugged. "Sorry."

I stared intently at her face. "None at all?"

"Uh." Now she looked uncertain. "No?"

"Not one teensy little bell?" I pressed.

"Nope," said Keiko.

"Not one obnoxious secretary desk bell?"

"Definitely not."

"Not even a tinny silver sleigh bell?"

"No bells of any kind," she said, and at that I heaved a weary sigh. Keiko's brows lifted. "But that sigh makes I think it _should_ hear some bells ringing, and the fact that I'm not means I'm missing something obvious."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Emphasis on the former, of course; I grabbed her hand and tugged her down the sidewalk. "Follow me."

Eeyore did, disgruntled muttering bouncing off the back of my head as I led her through town to the nearest train stop. We boarded the correct line and stood near the back. It wasn't crowded at midday but there were still a few businessmen and aunties present, so we kept our voices down and our heads huddled as we talked.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Keiko asked.

I hummed, rocking up into my toes. "You'll see."

"Great. You know I get enough of the cryptic act from Kurama, right?" she grumbled.

She wasn't mad at me. Eeyore didn't often get "mad"—just annoyed or stressed, but rarely mad. Still, she certainly didn't seem happy just then, eyes locked on the window above my head while her hand gripped the handle over her shoulder just a little bit too tight. The thin line of her mouth told me everything she wasn't saying (Keiko is easy to read when she's not doing her best Cryptic Kurama impression, which she rarely bothers to do in front of me because she loves me). At her displeasure I hesitated, wondering if I should say more, put her out of her misery a little. After all, this outing had been entirely my idea; I was responsible for making sure it went well for Keiko. I'd called her out for a "girl's day" with the promise of a surprise, and I felt I had to keep it subtle for the whole "frog boiling slowly" thing—but at the same time, Keiko wasn't the type who liked surprises. In fact, she _hated_ surprises, and I hadn't exactly been honest calling today a girl's day out. I had thought the toy shop would be enough of a tip-off, reveal the surprise soon... but Keiko's One-Anime Trick Pony-ness had thrown a wrench in that. Was there anything I could say to make this go down easier? I couldn't just tell her out right and risk her panicking on the train…

I thought about that for a few minutes as the car rocked and swayed. "We," I eventually said, picking my whispered words with care, "are going to pick my brother up from daycare."

Keiko looked down from the window with a confused frown. "Daycare?"

"He just started going, since he turned four," I explained.

"OK?"

"It's preschool, basically." I leaned forward, giving her a Look. "And he's making a lot of… new friends."

Keiko didn't miss a beat. "Good for him," she said. "Socialization is good for kids at that age."

And then her expression cleared a little as she looked up and over my head again.

It cleared because she had gotten some information, which put her more at ease… and because she'd missed the point. If she'd gotten it, she'd be anything but relaxed.

Let's try this again.

"Like." I scooted into her personal space. "Like. He's making really _interesting_ new friends. Y'know?"

Another eloquent brow-raise, this one expressing "no duh" confusion. "Uh. Good for him? And I'm not surprised, I guess, since this is Tokyo." She glanced at the train map inscribed above the seating area of the car. "Or at least a suburb of it, judging by the train route. Bound to be some interesting folks out here, right?"

"No, Eeyore." I drew even closer still. "Very, _very_ interesting friends— _you know what I mean?_ "

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

I stared at her some more.

She curled her fingers and moved them in a circle in front of her face. "You're trying to tell me something with your face game," she said, "but I have no idea what."

Useless. It was useless. Seeing was believing, so the big reveal would have to wait. With a sigh I said, "Just keep an open mind, OK? And open eyes, too, while you're at it."

"If you say so," Keiko said—and a nearby Auntie shot us a dirty look for talking on the train, so we fell quiet. Stupid, scary Aunties and their kid-shushing ways…

Soon enough the train came to a halt, and we disembarked and walked out of the station. Just outside of Tokyo, the area was kind of like a suburb, and it boasted one of the best _yo-chien_ preschools around—the best that we could afford, I mean. Schools in Tokyo are expensive, but that's neither here nor there.

We passed mostly houses and a few apartment blocks before finding the school, coming upon it from the side of the lot. A long, low building sat the back of the lot, cordoned off from the sidewalk and street by a low wooden fence painted pretty white. The building was painted sunny yellow below its green roof, and here at its side stood a sprawling playground and a big soccer field. I'd been there a hundred times and ran to the fence where it lay closest to the playground, which was currently crawling with children wearing bloomers, yellow hats, and blue coats. I hopped up and stood on the lowest rung of the fence, just barely tall enough to rest my arms along the top rung. Keiko stood at my side, though with feet planted firmly on the ground, as I shaded my eyes with my hand.

Eventually I found him. Kids were hard to tell apart at this distance, especially in their uniforms, but I knew my brother's walk and was able to pick him out of the crowd. "Hey, Sota!" I called, waving one arm furiously above my head.

Sota looked up from his spot near the monkey bars and waved back before breaking from the pack and trotting over. "Hi, nee-san!" he said, peering up at me with head craned very far back. His hat fell off as a result, but he didn't appear to notice.

"You having a good time playing?" I said.

"Yup!" His eyes travelled to my side. "Oh, hi, Keiko-chan!"

She smiled; she'd met my brother a few times when she came over to my house to hang out and was able to stand him. "Hi, Sota-kun," she said. "Good to see you." Keiko didn't like kids, but she was never mean to them.

But I wasn't there for small-talk or Keiko practicing her kid-talking skills. I rose up on my toes, trying to see higher over the fence. "So where's your new friend?" I said.

Sota turned and surveyed the playground. "Uh. Swinging, I think."

"Think she might want to say hi to me and Keiko?"

His face lit up. "Yeah, sure!" he said, and he turned his back to us and started waving. "Sakura-chan! Sakura-chan, come here!"

As soon as my bother said her name, one of the floppy yellow hats on the playground turned, revealing a small face ringed by yellow hat brim like a neon halo. The child in question hopped off her swing when it was at its height, sailing a several feet to the grass below. As it had the first time I saw her, my breathing hitched a little—because, like, _oh my god_ , right? She was freakin' adorable with those big green eyes of hers and her short auburn hair. Someone had cut it so longer pieces and bangs framed her sweet little face, and from under her hat poked two little half-pigtails secured by pink barrettes. I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she crossed the yard and picked up my brother's hat, which she deposited on his head with a big grin.

I snuck a glance at Keiko.

She watched the proceedings with an impassive expression. As if nothing worth mentioning had just happened in front of her, when something very much had.

But, like. Sorry, no, that was unacceptable. Time to get busy.

"Hi there, Sakura," I said, catching the little girl's eye. I gestured at Eeyore. "This is Keiko."

Keiko smiled, the exact same I-will-tolerate-you-but-nothing-more smile she'd given to my brother. "Hi, Sakura-chan. It's nice to meet you," she said with a bow.

Sakura bowed back, grinning shyly up at Keiko. As soon as she murmured a return greeting, she grabbed Sota's hand and pulled him after her, saying, "Come swing with me, Sota-kun."

"OK." He waved over his shoulder. "Bye, nee-san!"

"See you later, kid!" I said as he ran back to the playground. I watched him and Sakura go until they blended with the other kids before spinning in place, hooking my arms over the fence to keep my balance. Askance I glanced at Keiko, murmuring a long, low "Sooo?" at her as I steeled myself for what was sure to be a big reaction.

But no big reaction came. She just frowned after Sota, instead. "Are we early?"

"… what?"

"Are we early to pick him up?" She turned her frown my way. "You said that's why we were coming here, but they're still in school and—"

"Eeyore." I could scarcely believe what I was hearing, eyes wide as I pointed at the playground. " _Sakura_."

"Uh." She looked at me like I'd grown another eyeball. "Yes?"

"Sakura," I said. "The kid's name is _Sakura._ "

"Yes. A very common name in Japan." Frustration crept into her dark eyes. "One you have used as an alias before, in fact. So what's your point?"

"Oh my _god_ ," I said, because there was nothing else to say, and I leapt from the fence and started running—doubling back to grab Eeyore's arm and drag her, protesting all the while, along with me.

They tended to keep the front gate of the school open in case parents needed to visit for any reason, the athletic fields and playground secure behind separate gates and fences of their own (dumbass kids like to wander off and whatnot, I guess). Without any trouble we were able to round the corner of the fence and head for the front of the school, crossing its expansive grounds and then entering the front doors unimpeded. Inside was a room full of cubbies painted cheerful colors, basically a shoe-locker room that trained kids on how they'd be expected to function once they reached elementary school. Eeyore said something about trespassing as I wandered through the rows of waist-high cubbies, scanning the names on each of them until I found the one I was looking for.

"Here. Look," I said, coming to a stop. I pointed at the name on one cubby's little pink label, shaking my finger at it for emphasis. "Look!"

Keiko came over to do as I said, though she edged around me as if I were a venomous snake. "Kinomoto Sakura," she said, craning her neck to see it without getting too close. "All right. So?"

" _So?"_ I gaped at her because _holy shit_ , "You really have no idea, do you?"

"No idea about _what?"_ Her hands affixed themselves to her hips, feet spreading underneath her in full Keiko Power Stance. "What the hell is all of this about, Tigger?"

I shook my head. "Not here. C'mon."

Keiko threw up her hands in exasperation (as Keiko is wont to do when she's feeling her most dramatic) but she still followed me back outside and to the sidewalk beyond the gates with little more than a sigh. The front of the school lay along a busy street; cars rushed past, sending the skirt Keiko wore flapping on the dusty breeze. She barely noticed, though, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the school's fence. I stood near the curb, wondering what the heck I was supposed to say now.

How was Eeyore missing all of these signs?!

"Look, Eeyore," I said before she could say anything (her mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth). "I get that you really, really loved one anime in particular, but there's no way you don't know what Kinomoto Sakura is from."

Her eyes widened.

"Yeah. _From._ Think about it." I made a 'come here' gesture with both hands as her eyes widened further still, travelling up and over my head as clearly things began to dawn on her. "A little more. A little more, a little—"

She launched toward me and latched onto my wrist. "Kagome, _get back!"_

As Keiko wrenched me behind her there came a screech of tires at my back, followed by the pop of car doors opening and then the pound of feet on the sidewalk. I slammed against the fence as Keiko cursed, spinning just in time to see her lob a punch at a woman wearing a black suit and tie—wait, a woman in a suit and tie?! What the heck?! I barely had time to wonder at that, though, as two more women in suits appeared from inside of the _big-black-and-creepy windowless stalker van_ now idling at the curb just behind where I'd been standing. Keiko had the first woman in a choke hold; she released a wordless cry of warning as the two others surged past her, one of them heading straight toward me.

Hideki had trained me and Keiko well, though. The third lady doubled back to help the first with Keiko and the last came at me with hands outstretched. I dodged back, jumping out of her reach and then vaulting like a pinball off the fence to deliver a kick to her hamstring. She staggered with a grunt, but although she hadn't gone down completely I ignored her and bee lined for Keiko. Keiko had managed to send one of the women to the ground; she tussled with the other, hand wound into the lady's short hair as she fought for a good grip around her neck.

"Eeyore!" I said—but as I stepped forward to help, light glanced off the tinted front window of the panel van, briefly illuminating the person sitting in the passenger seat.

I froze.

In an instant the woman I'd earlier struck pounced, wrapping her arms around my torso in a bruising embrace. Did I fight, though? You bet your sweet ass I did _not_. Instead I let the suit-lady walk me toward the van's opened sliding door, past Keiko where she still fought the other two women who'd come after us. Keiko did a double-take when I passed by, momentarily releasing the woman in her arms as she tried to come after me.

"Keiko!" I said, and in English I told her, "Don't fight!"

Her eyes bugged out of her skull. "What? Are you crazy?!"

"Just go with it, dangit, _trust me!_ "

She started to argue—but the suit-ladies had regrouped, standing on either side of her with fists raised, ready to do battle again. Keiko rolled her eyes and passed a hand through her hair, flipping her punkrocker bangs out of her face with a sigh. "Ugh. Fine," she said, putting her hands up—but she snarled and skirted away when one of the women tried to take her by the elbow and steer her toward the car.

Keiko might've been surrendering, but she sure as shit wasn't ready to give up her dignity, bless her prideful ass.

Keiko walked to the van under her own power shortly after the suit-lady shoved me into it. I stumbled and managed to find a bench seat just behind the passenger and driver seats. Keiko slid onto it beside me; one of the women slid in next to Keiko, and the other two climbed onto what I guessed was another seat way in the back just before the door shut behind them. I barely noticed, though, because the van?

It was _tricked the fuck out_ , y'all.

Like, I'm serious here—I had legroom for days and not just because my body is ten years old. There was just… there was just a shit ton of legroom, right? And there was a freaking ice bucket brimming with cold sodas set into the side of the van to my left (I would've preferred champagne, but all right) and a metric crap-ton of hidden LED lights casting ambient illumination all over the inside of the dark van (which didn't have windows here in the back, so yeah, the van was still creepy, but whatever). Classical music played softly over the speakers, complementing the plush suede under my butt and the faint fragrance of sandalwood perfuming the van's interior. In short, the van was basically an undercover limousine, and I probably would've enjoyed taking it for a ride had we not just gotten abducted by a bunch of ladies in excellently tailored suits. Seriously, they fit the women like gloves, dapper and elegant and gorgeous and _oh my god I had so much suit envy!_

What can I say? I have an appreciation for the finger things in life.

So did the girl in the passenger seat, I was guessing.

The front seats were both bucket seats, and as the car pulled away from the curb, the passenger bucket spun in place. Sitting on a velvet booster seat (because apparently everything in this damn car needed to be Extra as Fuck) was a little girl no older than my baby brother. She sat with hands folded primly on her lap, which was covered in a blue satin dress with puffy sleeves and a row of gold buttons up the front, complete with frilly white petticoats that peeked from underneath the skirt in a froth of lace. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders from beneath a lacy bonnet; shiny leather shoes with gold buckles stuck out from under the dress, short legs not quite able to bend at the knee while sitting in such a deep car seat. She regarded Keiko and me up and down with enormous violet eyes, their color vivid and memorable against the pale alabaster of her skin.

She looked like a porcelain doll.

She looked freakin' familiar, too, which is the important thing—though once again, Keiko didn't seem to recognize her.

The girl raised her hands and snapped her fingers. As one, all of the women in the car (including the driver, whose hands I could see gripping the steering wheel) reached into their pockets and pulled out pairs of earbuds, which connected to Walkmans clipped to their belts. Oh, 1990s, how do I love thee. Like they'd practiced it, they pressed "play" in perfect unison, and soon various strains of faint music undercut the classical concerto still playing over the car's speakers.

"There," said the little girl. "Now we may talk in private." She raised one tiny hand and waved it at the ice bucket. "Do you care for refreshment?"

She had a high-pitched voice, smooth and oddly articulate but still tripping over her R sounds. Keiko and I exchanged a glance. Without breaking that glance, I reached over and grabbed a soda. Keiko rolled her eyes, but she accepted the strawberry drink I handed to her without complaint.

"I apologize for the rough treatment," the little girl continued, "but I assure you it was necessary." She steepled her fingers, tapping them together one by one. "I noticed you took an interest in one of the children at that daycare. I want to know why."

Keiko cracked open her soda. Took a swig and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand (to which the little doll-lady directed a grimace of distaste). "Who are you?" Keiko said, not bothering with the girl's question. "What do you want with us?"

She inclined her head, smile polite and perfunctory—not like a little kid at all. "I could ask you the same thing," she said.

"Well, I asked you first," said Keiko. She gestured with her bottle that the girl should be the first to speak, that the floor was open for her contribution, fake-nice smile like a strawberry stain on her mouth. "So?"

"Who I am is not important." The girl's smile faded. "What is important is that you understand that I will allow no harm to come to her. She is going to be very important someday, and as such, I will not allow anything to happen to Kinomoto Sakura so long as I live and breathe."

For a moment, no one said anything. I think Keiko and I were both too shocked at such a speech coming out of the mouth of _a goddamn four year old_ to think straight—but then Keiko gasped, hand loosening around her bottle of soda. It almost dropped to the floor, but she made a sound of distress and managed at the last second to catch it again.

And then she looked at me, color draining from her face like a bottle of dye that hand sprung a leak.

Oh. So _now_ she was getting it, was she?

"Tigger," she said, swallowing. "Tigger, oh my god."

"Welcome to the party, Eeyore!" I sang.

Up in the front, the little girl started. "Tigger?" she said. "Eeyore?"

Keiko didn't appear to hear her. "Obsessive, dark hair, _Sakura_ ," she muttered under her breath, the pieces one by one connecting—at fucking last, right? She swallowed again, then tipped back and chugged the rest of her soda. Too bad it wasn't vodka, right? When she finished she took a shaking breath, cupped her hands around her mouth, and whispered, "I only ever watched the dub. And I think her last name in it was 'Avalon.'"

Pieces fell together in my head, too; I face-palmed. "Well, that explains it!" I said. The idea that Keiko had only seen the terrible American dub hadn't even occurred to me, but now her slow reaction made sense. Only seeing the dub, she had no hope in hell of recognizing the stupid toy store!

The girl up front (whose name I suspected I knew but whose name I now suspected Keiko only knew the dub equivalent of) looked between us with dawning comprehension. "Oh. So the two of you prefer English, then? I can speak whatever language you prefer, rest assured," she said in absolutely _perfect_ American English. She preened at our shocked expressions, smoothing down her skirts with a chuckle entirely too devious to belong to a mere child—but then her eyes hardened into chips of cold, sharp amethyst. "And if I need to defend Sakura, I will do so with the same precision with which I—"

Keiko leveled a finger at the girl's face. "You. What's your name?" she demanded.

The girl turned up her nose. "I told you, that doesn't—"

I half expected Keiko to smash her empty bottle and make a shiv out of it, her eyes blazed so bright. "What's your fucking name, kid?" she said (and beside her I saw the lady in the suit angle herself toward Keiko just so).

The girl up front bristled. "How _dare_ you speak to me that way?!"

"Is your name Tomoyo?" I cut in.

And then it was her turn to gape, tiny mouth parted in a wide O. "H-how did—?"

"Daidouji Tomoyo?" I pressed.

She went rigid. "How did you know that?" she said.

Keiko and I shared another glance. Looked back at Tomoyo. Looked at each other again. Leaned in close to conspire.

"Multilingual," Keiko whispered.

"Suspiciously large vocabulary," I muttered.

"Stressing the main character's importance in the future—" said Keiko, and she cut herself off with a groan, head falling into both hands.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" I said in her ear, grinning.

"I think so, much though I hate to admit it," Keiko said against her palms. She groaned, "Not another one, goddammit!"

Tomoyo sat up very straight in her booster seat, glaring at us. "What are you two whispering about?"

I offered her a smile. "We're whispering about how you seem… mature for your age," I said.

"Yes. Well." She preened again, this time patting at the curls of her long hair. "I am in the top percentile of—"

Keiko lifted her head and met Tomoyo's eyes. "An old soul, even," she deadpanned.

Tomoyo's hands froze. "An old—?" she said, eyes round, but the words died on her tongue.

"Oh. I think that rang a bell, Keiko!" I said, elbowing her ribs. "Good job."

Bells appeared to be ringing for Tomoyo in more ways than one. At the sound of Keiko's name she sat up very straight indeed. "Keiko?" she repeated, stunned, but her eyes darkened as they narrowed. From between grit teeth she commanded, "Tell me who you are this instant! I demand to know who you are and how—"

"I'm Higurashi Kagome," I cut in, and at my name Tomoyo froze completely. "Friend of a guy with the cutest dog ears you've ever seen."

"And I'm Yukimura Keiko," said Keiko, "best friend of a certain punk-ass Spirit Detective."

"And you're Daidouji Tomoyo," I said, "best friend of Kinomoto Sakura, who is one day destined to become…"

A moment of silence followed. A big, thick, uncomfortable moment of silence as heavy on the tongue as a fart in a crowded room (but less gross, of course) as Tomoyo looked at me, at Keiko, and back to me again. Soon she swallowed and wrung her hands, eyes casting about as she looked for an escape—but none came.

Tomoyo admitted, in a small, wheedling voice: "The—the Cardcaptor. She's destined to become the Cardcaptor." And then she sagged in defeat, mopping a hand over her face like she'd just fought a war.

My grin broke across my face like a freakin' firework, meanwhile. "I knew it. _I knew it,"_ I said, poking Keiko again and again in the ribs.

She dodged away with an unwilling giggle. "She _is_ one of us," she said, though I couldn't tell if Keiko felt good or bad about that just yet.

Tomoyo seemed to feed badly about it. "You're Kagome—and you're Keiko—and _Inuyasha_." She kept pinballing her eyes between us, trying to make sense of the earthquake that had just shook her world and rung her bells and sent everything she thought she knew spinning into chaos. "And _Yu Yu Hakusho?_ They're—?"

"Real?" I said, grinning like a cat from Cheshire. "Yup! Just as real as _Cardcaptor Sakura_ , at least!"

Tomoyo stared at us, aghast, so Keiko leaned forward. Looked at Tomoyo with sincerity, smile supportive and kind and very Mom. "Which means you're not alone in this, Tomoyo," she said, "though we know that hasn't always been your name." Her smile tightened just a little. "Keiko and Kagome haven't always been our names, either."

Keiko paused to let Tomoyo process this. Tomoyo sat there all pretty in her expensive clothes, in her luxurious and opulent van, staring at the two of us without seeing, eyes wide and numb like a kid who'd just been told they'd lost their favorite dolly—but then in Tomoyo's eyes, lightning crashed. Thunder rumbled. She crossed one thigh over the other and crossed her thin arms over her tiny chest and leaned back in her seat, slouching as her upper lip curled and she rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn't give herself a concussion.

And then, from the mouth of this four year old girl in fluffy petticoats, came the single thickest New Jersey accent I have ever heard in my goddamn life.

"Oh, _fuck me fuckin' sideways_ , I could use a cigarette right now," Tomoyo said. She swiped the bonnet off her head and crushed it between her little baby hands with a glare that could singe steel. "So give it t' me straight, you two. Where the fuckin' hell did you come from, and what the _shit_ is going on?"

Keiko and I looked at each other.

Tomoyo looked at us, tapping her fingers against her bicep as she bared her pearly teeth.

As one, Keiko and I burst out laughing—because in that situation, what else were we supposed to do?

* * *

NOTES

 _THIS ISN'T REALLY LC-CANON but I thought it was funny so I wrote it. The fact that canon!Tomoyo has a team of women body guards cracks me up and I couldn't not use them._

 _The toy store at the beginning shares its name with Tomoyo's surname (her mother owns a toy company), but since I've never seen anything but the badly dubbed anime, I would have NO IDEA what I was looking at in NQK's position. I've also never seen all of the series or read the manga, so I don't think I'd realize who Sakura was unless someone explained it. Hence NQK's slow reaction here._

 _Fun Facts: Did you know the_ Cardcaptor Sakura _and_ Inuyasha _mangas were both released in 1996 (which surprised me; I think of them as taking place in different eras (pun unintended but fabulous))? Kagome was 15 in '96 but Sakura was only 10 years old that year, which would make her four years old in 1990—coincidentally, that's about the same age as Kagome's younger brother, who was 9 in 1996. Hence how they wound up at the same preschool and how Kagome caught wind of the_ Cardcaptor _canon brewing, which brings us to this_ omake _._

 _Obviously Sakura won't awaken to her powers until she's 10 (provided canon stays on track), so the_ Cardcaptor Sakura _series can't have much of an impact on other canons until 1996, at which point the YYH canon will have come to its end. That's why I decided to write this interaction here instead of in the main_ LC _storyline._

 _Although, if in the main storyline Kagome and Keiko ever have a need for funky outfits, video equipment, or communication technology (which Tomoyo provided to Sakura in the manga) they'll know whom to contact._

 _So, my head-canon for Switcheroo!Tomoyo. In her past life she lived in New Jersey. She was a housewife who had dreams of becoming a singer, but she got married and got sidetracked before she could realize that dream. Her kid, her only son, LOVED Cardcaptor Sakura. She is fiercely protective of Sakura because she misses her son; she projects her Mama Bear self onto her relationship with Sakura since her son isn't around in this life. She curses like a sailor and LOVES dressing in the frilly fashions Tomoyo favors, and apart from missing her family, she has a great freaking time being Tomoyo. Hell, she was a pageant/dance mom in her past life so that's no surprise. She already loved to sew and sing and document her kid's soccer games on camera; now she gets to do all of that all over again, but with lots of money from her mother and maybe some magic in a few years. It's the ideal situation for her, really._

 _AKA: Keiko might not be "Mom Friend" of her group anymore, LOLOL._

 _BTW, I start a fic adaptation of my Pokémon SoulSilver Nuzlocke run! It's an SI (though different from LC by a lot) and if you check it out, I'd be grateful. Hope you like it!_

 _Super duper thanks to all of you who chimed in last week with your reactions to the New Year's Omakes! I hope this bit of humor brightens your day: C S Stars, shen0, MiYuki Kurama, zubhanwc3, Sweetfoxgirl13, M, Desaid, potatoqueen, 431101134, rikku92, Sky65, Renne Sarah, Skylar1023, Gelasia Kidd, Ede Mae, Viviene 001, kittenfood, Orihime-san, Laina Inverse, Moma Nina, rya-fire1, Nameless Sinner, Lady Ellesmere, o-dragon, Kaiya Azure and three guests!_


	14. Chapter 14: Because She Cares

Warnings: POTENTIAL LUCKY CHILD SPOILERS THROUGH CHAPTER 87 OR SO.

* * *

Children of Misfortune

"Because She Cares"

 _This scene takes place the night before the fight against Rinku, Chu and Zeru._

 _May spoil_ Lucky Child _through chapter 87._

* * *

As his friends lifted their cups to their mouths, Kuwabara eyed his mug of steaming coffee and said, "Well, I'm not drinking it."

His words managed to get them all to pause before they took their drinks. The masked fighter's hooded eyes regarded Kuwabara beadily through the slits in their head covering, but they said nothing as Hiei, Kurama, and Yusuke (who hadn't touched his coffee, either, because he'd been too busy hunkering down on the couch for a pre-bed nap) exchanged skeptical looks. The door to their hotel suite shut moments later behind the employee who had delivered the complimentary coffee Kuwabara was so eager to reject, and at the sound of door hitting frame, Yusuke heaved a sigh and sat up.

"You gonna tell us why you're getting picky all of a sudden, or are you gonna leave us in suspense?" he said.

"I'm not picky!" Kuwabara huffed. "They might be tryin' to poison us before the fights!"

"I doubt that very much." Kurama lifted his cup again, expression pensive. "Bringing us all this way only to poison us isn't exactly the portrait of logical planning…"

"Yes, Kuwabara." Hiei's voice, sharp and cutting, held only mockery. "The organizers want to see us fight. They'll save their murder attempts for the ring. Any _child_ could tell you that."

But Kuwabara didn't rise to Hiei's jab. "Yeah, yeah. You go on and risk it if you want." He grabbed one of his two duffle bags off the floor, unzipped, and pulled from within it a can of soda. "Me, though? I'm sticking with trusty ol' aluminum."

To illustrate, Kuwabara cracked open his can and guzzled. Kurama chuckled and took a sip of coffee, closing his eyes as he savored it. Hiei tried his cup and immediately set it down again, face twisting at the bitter taste; he began to look around the room as if searching for escape routes. Yusuke, who sat beside Kuwabara, leaned over and peered into the bag. His brows shot up. "You brought _an entire duffel bag_ of food with you?"

"Of course!" Kuwabara said.

"But why?"

"Why _wouldn't_ I, Urameshi? It's not like they gave us a brochure with all the food options and I didn't exactly think they'd put a grocery store on a freakin' island." He scowled at Yusuke, eyes alight with somewhat morbid curiosity. "What did _you_ think we'd be eating while we're here?"

"Uh." Yusuke scratched the back of his head and refused to look anyone in the eye. "I guess I just didn't think about it and—hey, wait a minute." His voice dropped low, and when he spoke next, it sounded like an accusation. "That's the _old lady's_ handkerchief."

Kurama, across from them on the other couch, slowly lowered his cup from his mouth. Hiei, too, stopped looking around and began to pay attention, gazing with new interest at the bag of food. Kuwabara followed Yusuke's gaze down to the bag on his lap. Inside, a half-dozen packs of instant noodles sat wrapped snugly within the confines of a handkerchief patterned with tiny cartoon frogs. Kuwabara blinked at it for a minute, considering what Yusuke meant.

"The old la—oh, do you mean _Keiko?_ " Kuwabara scowled. "You really gotta stop calling her that, Urameshi; it's not nice."

"But she's a _grandma!_ Just look at that pattern!" Yusuke pointed at the handkerchief and rolled his eyes. "It screams 'old lady' if you ask me."

"Shut up!" Kuwabara zipped up the bag and jerked it out of Yusuke's reach. "Keiko was really nice and helped me pack all this food—which you're _probably_ gonna steal and eat, by the way—so don't disrespect her!"

Something about Kuwabara's rebuke made Yusuke scoff. "'Really nice,' huh?" He propped his feet up on the fancy lacquered coffee table and shoved his hands into his pockets, slouching and scowling and looking every inch a delinquent. "You don't know her at all, do you."

Kuwabara bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should put that hag on a pedestal, _that's_ what it means."

Kuwabara's face reddened, but before he could tell Yusuke off, Hiei laughed. "Yes. I'm inclined to agree. She isn't nearly the saint Kuwabara seems to believe she is."

Yusuke's slouch deepened further still, threatening to merge him with the couch. "That's rich, coming from _you_ ," he said, rolling his eyes at Hiei over the tops of his knees.

Hiei blinked, but soon surprise turned into a razor-edged glare. "Do you have something to say, Detective?"

"Yeah. I do." Yusuke match Hiei's glare with one of his own, teeth bared in a humorless grin. " _You're_ the one she's practically adopted, Hiei, and to be honest? I'm surprised you don't actually call her 'mom' at this point."

A growl rumbled in Hiei's chest; the room became a few degrees warmer, but Yusuke's smirk only intensified. "I'm warning you, Detective," Hiei said. "You should watch your mouth, if you know what's good for you."

"What? It's true." Yusuke's smile grew all the wider—and all the more contemptuous. "She feeds you and even does your frickin' laundry. She's totally your mom." When Hiei's eyes widened (and at Kuwabara's shocked snicker) Yusuke outright grinned. "Oh, yeah, I know _all_ about that. I saw that black cloak in the dirty basket, and you're the only one of us who rocks the medieval goth look."

Kurama sighed and took another sip of coffee. "Careful, Yusuke," he said over the lip of his cup. "I believe she does your laundry, too."

"Yeah, but _Hiei's_ the one she literally has a standing dinner date with every week."

"We meet every week because she is my _parole officer_ ," Hiei retorted.

"Oh, so parole officers do your laundry and feed you now?" Yusuke cackled, head thrown back against the couch. "Maybe I oughta break some laws, get a parole officer of my own since they're that freakin' handy."

"Shut up." Between moments, Hiei shot to his feet, hands clenching as tightly as his iron jaw. "You have _no idea what you're talking about!_ "

"Don't I?" Yusuke's feet came off the coffee table; he sat up, elbows on knees, grinning with all of the teeth in his head. "I grew up with her, short stack. I know her better than anybody, and Keiko is a mom or a grandma or whatever to the core. She's not doing that stuff because she's your parole officer. It's because she _cares about you_." He mimed barfing and shuddered. "Gross. It's honestly disgusting, how much she cares. But it only goes so far before she turns around and—"

Yusuke stopped talking. He stared at his untouched cup of coffee, smile fading into a thin-lipped scowl below his darkened eyes. No one spoke, but the masked fighter watched Yusuke very carefully through the gap in their head covering. Kurama watched Yusuke, too, noting the lines of his taut shoulders and the sudden snap of tension in the air. Hiei just glared at Yusuke some more while Kuwabara sat there in bewildered silence.

"And _what?_ " Hiei spat. "Before she turns around and _what?_ "

"Never mind." Yusuke shook his head and stood. "I need some air."

Hiei made a sound of disgust between his teeth before turning on his heel and stalking toward the door to their shared hotel suite. Yusuke went the opposite direction, wrenching open the sliding door to the balcony so he could stare moodily into the dark night beyond. Their room overlooked the forest behind the hotel, swaying branches illuminated only by the stars and the distant sickle moon. "What's eating him?" Kuwabara muttered in the living room, but Yusuke ignored him.

It was pointless, trying to talk to Kuwabara about Keiko. Kuwabara had too big of a soft spot for her to listen to Yusuke's griping.

Same most likely went for Kurama, who joined Yusuke on the balcony a moment later. Keiko had a standing dinner date with Kurama each week, too, and Yusuke knew it. Kurama leaned against the railing beside Yusuke, green eyes scouring the trees below as if trying to pry secrets from their undulating leaves. Yusuke didn't greet him.

Eventually Kurama's eyes cut to the side, toward Yusuke, who hadn't moved from his spot hunched over the railing. "Are you all right?" Kurama murmured.

"I'm _fine_."

Kurama looked at the trees again. A beat passed. Yusuke swore.

"OK, so I'm _not_ fine. I'm pissed," he said. "What about it?"

"Kei told me you fought." Kurama smiled. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Yusuke hesitated—but then he shook his head. "Nah. Not tonight, anyway. Thanks, though." Suddenly he blinked; he raised his arms up over his head and yawned, long and loud and sleepily. "I'm actually really, really tired for some reason, and…"

Yusuke swayed on his feet. He blinked twice, took a deep breath, and fell forward as his eyes fell shut. Kurama caught him as Yusuke began to snore. Laughing, Kurama called for Kuwabara, and together they carried Yusuke inside and put him into bed, their efforts overseen by the silent and shrewd gaze of the mysterious masked fighter.

When Yusuke next woke, he would take Kurama up on his offer of a talk—but that would not be for another day yet.

* * *

NOTES:

 _Figured I should give y'all an insight into how Yusuke is feeling during the DT._

 _Also yes, I worked a tiny bit of dub dialogue into the conversation. Felt fitting!_

 _So to make this scene fit into canon, I made some tiny changes to canon. Yusuke was awake during the boat trip over to the island, but he fell into his Genkai-training-induced coma/nap/sleep that night at the hotel (as you saw). Shortly after carrying Yusuke inside, Kurama notices a missing cup on the table. Cue the entrance of Rinku and Zeru, and the flow of canon goes back to normal until Hiei's tied match the next day. Yusuke slept all through the night and into the next day; he didn't wake up until he had to fight Chu, as he did in canon._

 _Also I've never written in this POV before? It's "observer-narrator" mixed with a tiny bit of omniscient, but without taking full advantage of an omniscient narrator's ability to see what everyone's thinking. I have a feeling I know exactly who the_ _observer narrator of this tidbit is (yes, it's a character) but I'm not going to say who just yet. Hope you liked this slightly experimental POV, and thanks for reading!_


End file.
